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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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BY 


MRS.  H.  N.  JENKINS, 


KENDUSKEAG,  ME. 


BANGOR,  ME. 
O.  F.  KXOWLES  &  CO.,  PRINTERS. 

18S8. 


Copyright  1887, 
MRS.  H.  N.  JENKINS. 


TS 


PREFACE. 


With  much  hesitation,  I  place  this  volume  of  poems 
before  the  public,  knowing  well  how  open  to  criticism 
they  will  be  ;  but,  in  compliance  with  the  wishes  of  my 
friends,  I  have  decided  to  do  so. 

They  have  been  written  amid  the  cares  and  weariness 
of  a  mother's  busy  life, — often  under  the  shaddw  of  sick 
ness  and  sorrow. 

Doubtless,  better  opportunities  for  mental  culture  in 
my  girlhood,  and  more  leisure  for  reading  and  study  in 
later  years,  would  have  enabled  me  to  give  better  ex 
pression  to  my  thoughts. 

My  life  has  been  devoted  to  my  home  and  family  ;  and 
I  have  written  only  in  spare  moments,  when  no  real  duty 
might  be  neglected,  recognizing  the  fact  that  I  am  not 
a  genius — simply  a  plain  home-body. 


762950 


PREFACE. 


Circumscribed  as  my  life  has  been, — 

I  cannot,  from  my  inner  world 

Of  tossing,  billowy  thought, 
Bring  to  you  shining  pearls,  or  gems 

Elaborately  wrought, 
Or  hope  to  find  'mid  work  and  care 
A  store  of  hidden  diamonds  rare  : 

And  yet, — 

''If  any  thought  of  mine,  or  sung  or  told. 
Has  ever  given  delight  or  consolation, 
Ye  have  repaid  me  back  a  thousand  fold, 
By  every  friendly  sign  or  salutation. 

"Therefore  I  hope,  as  no  unwelcome  guest, 

At  your  warm  fireside,  when  the  lamps  are  lighted, 

To  have  my  place  reserved  among  the  rest, 

Nor  stand  as  one  unsought  or  uninvited." 

H.  N.  J. 
Kenduskeag. 


INSCRIBED 

TO 


rintbs. 


Believing  that  some  account  of  the  author's  life  will 
be  of  interest  to  the  reader,  I  have  prepared  the  following 
brief  sketch  : 

Mrs.  H.  N.  Jenkins  (Helen  N.  Jerrard)  was  born  in 
Plymouth,  Me.,  Sept.  9,  1836. 

Her  parents,  the  late  John  and  Jane  Jerrard,  were 
among  the  pioneers  of  that  part  of  Penobscot  Countv, 
and  began  life  in  the  forest  on  one  of  the  rugged,  but 
picturesque  hills  of  Plymouth. 

Here  they  made  a  pleasant  home,  and  reared  a  family 
of  eight  children,  of  whom  Helen  was  the  sixth. 

John  Jerrard,  a  man  well  known  in  this  part  of  the 
State  for  his  sterling  worth  and  business  capacity,  was, 
for  many  years,  quite  extensively  engaged  in  lumbering 
on  the  Penobscot  waters,  where  he  acquired  a  compe 
tency.  Highly  appreciative  of  all  that  was  best  in  liter 
ature,  he  hoped  to  give  his  children  the  advantages  of  a 
good  education  ;  but  heavy  losses,  later  in  life,  limited 
the  educational  privileges  of  the  younger  children,  and 
thus  blighted  the  dearest  hope  of  Helen  Jerrard's  girl 
hood. 

A  lover  of  books,  and  fond  of  study,  she  made  the 
most  of  such  opportunities  as  she  had.  She  also  studied 
at  home,  assisted  by  an  older  brother,  and  read  the  works 
of  the  best  authors,  among  whom  Scott  was  her  favorite. 

In  those  years,  some  of  the  most  eminent  clergymen  of 
the  State,  in  their  journeys  by  carriage  through  the 
country,  visited  the  home  of  the  Jerrards,  and  furnished 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH. 


many  a  rich  intellectual  treat  for  the  eager  listeners 
around  the  fireside  ;  thus  helping  the  genial,  intelligent 
lather,  and  the  quiet,  home-loving  mother,  to  fill  the 
hearts  of  their  children  with  reverent  love  for  the  Great 
All-Father,  and  with  a  desire  for  the  highest  mental  cul 
ture. 

In  March,  1858,  Helen  Jerrard  married  Frank  D.  Jen 
kins,  then  of  Bangor,  afterward,  for  many  years,  a  suc 
cessful  merchant  in  Pittsfield,  Me.  In  iS/r,  his  health 
failing,  he  retired  from  business,  and  the  family  have 
since  lived  on  a  farm  in  Kenduskeag,  Me. 

Mrs.  Jenkins'  life  has  been  energetic  and  helpful. 
Eight  children,  six  of  whom  are  now  living,  have  been 
tenderly  cared  for  by  this  loving,  self-sacrificing  mother. 

It  may  be  said,  "A  mother's  songs  should  not  be  sc 
sad  ;"  but  those  who  know  how  much  sorrow  has  fallen 
to  her  lot,  will  not  wonder  at  the  undertone  of  sadness 
in  many  of  her  poems.  Sickness  and  death  have  visited 
her  home,  and  left  their  traces  on  her  face  and  in  her 
heart.  Still,  she  is  cheerful  and  patient  in  her  home, 
entering  into  all  the  innocent  enjoyment  of  her  children 
with  interest  and  pleasure.  Her  health,  for  a  few  years 
past,  has  been  much  broken,  and  she  writes  but  little. 

From  her  childhood,  encompassed  by  a  diffidence  and 
reticence  never  wholly  overcome,  she  has  led  a  retired 
life.  A  reverent  lover  of  Nature,  she  has  found  much  of 
her  highest  enjoyment  amid  rural  scenes. 

A.H.  J. 


% 


r 


)G 


POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 


% 


WILD   ROSES. 


Once,  in  a  glen  secluded  far  from  view, 
Beside  a  broken  wall,  wild  roses  grew  ; 
And  ever  in  the  golden  month  of  June, 
When  nature's  sweetest  voices  were  in  tune, 
When  all  the  flowers,  in  wonderful  array, 
Made  this  fair  month  their  chosen  holiday, 

Dainty  and  shy,  my  winsome  beauties  came, 
Their  cheeks  with  bashful  blushes  all  aflame. 

O,  dearest,  fairest  roses  in  the  land  ! 

The  humblest  ones  of  all  this  regal  band, 
They  clothe  themselves  in  sweet  simplicity, 
And  win  our  love  by  their  soft  witchery. 

Again  I  visit  this  enchanted  glen. 

Where,  in  my  childhood,  I  so  oft  have  been  ; 

After  the  years  have  written  on  my  face 

The  tell-tale  lines  their  ruthless  fingers  trace, 
Hoping  to  find  my  roses  blooming  there. 
In  all  their  old-time  beautv.  fresh  and  fair. 


T 


POEMS    OF    N7ATURE    A\D    HOME. 


Again  I  trace  the  path  the  orchard  through, 
And  far  adown  the  sloping  hillside,  too  ; 

Through  wide  green  fields  with  violets  dotted  o'er, 
And  golden  buttercups,  sweet  as  of  yore  ; 
Where  strawberries  cluster  richly  at  my  feet, 
And  bid  me  welcome  to  their  treasures  sweet. 

I  find,  at  last,  the  ruined,  broken  wall. 
Half  hidden  now  by  vines  and  brambles  tall. 

Ah  !  nevermore  shall  I  my  roses  see  ! 

They  all  are  gone — not  one  is  left  to  me  ! 
Over  me  here  a  sombre  shadow  falls,  . 

While  half-forgotten  scenes  the  past  recalls. 

Sad  memories  come  unbidden  to  my  heart. 

Thus,  from  my  sight,  my  friends  did  all  depart. — 
The  girlish  friends  I  loved  so  long  ago, — 
They  each  and  all  lie  'neath  the  daisies  low, — 

And,  seeking  now  the  love  my  heart  still  craves, 

I  find,  alas !  their  silent,  grass-grown  graves. 


c 


TIME  AND  CHANGE.  13 


TIME  AND    CHANGE. 


Vague  and  unreal  are  the  dreams  of  youth  ; 
Yet  to  each  eager  heart  the  veriest  truth  : 
Each  out-drawn  thread  so  tenderly  inwove 
With  golden  fibres  of  the  heart's  pure  love. 
So  firm  and  strong  its  silken  tissues  seem. 
We  cannot  think  we  do  but  idlv  dream. 
Unbidden  from  the  past  come  trooping  by 
Sweet  pictured  forms  in  glowing  imagery, — 
Of  fancies,  feelings  so  unlike  our  own, — 
Another  self  outlived,  or  life  outgrown. 
Gorgeous  and  glowing  are  the  colors  there  ; 
Beauty  and  freshness  blend  in  visions  rare, 
On  which  we  love  to  look  ;  while,  at  our  side. 
The  somber  present  seems  each  thought  to  chide. 
We  see  the  misty  drapery  removed 
From  phantom  idols  tenderly  beloved  ; 
While  eager  hands  are  retching  to  enclasp 
The  floating  castles  just  beyond  their  grasp. 
Such  airy  wonders  !  tinged  with  everv  hue 
Which  makes  the  rainbow  beautiful  to  view. 
And  yet  they  fade,  and  leave  the  hard,  stern  real, 
So  little  like  our  wonderful  ideal  ; 
And  we  the  truth,  ere  long,  unwilling  learn. 
Their  g-lowin"-  colors  never  will  return  ! 


V 


i 


14  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

Now,  looking  back,  we  take  from  memory's  shelves 

These  broken  toys,  and  wonder  at  ourselves  ; 

Wonder  at  all  the  freaks  of  Time  and  Change, 

Their  shadows  round  us  fall  so  cold  and  strange. 

And  O,  how  strong  the  yearning  to  bring  forth 

Youth's  roseate  hues  to  deck  again  the  earth  ! 

Alas !  how  hard  to  check  the  gathering  tears, 

When,  looking  back  through  intervening  years, 

We  brush  away  the  dust  of  care  and  pain, 

And  try  to  find  our  joyous  hearts  again  ! 

The  warmth  and  sunlight  seem  forever  fled, 

Leaving  but  clouds  and  shadows  there  instead. 

In  youth,  we  turn  the  dross  to  gold,  with  magic  wand 

Where  now  we  garner,  with  unskillful  hand, 

The  thorns  and  briers  which  gather  in  our  way. 

We  cannot  skip  them  by  in  childish  play  ; 

They  cling  to  us  and  pierce  our  weary  feet, 

Till  rest  and  peace  seem  but  an  echo  sweet 

From  some  quaint  song,  some  half-forgotten  strain, 

Mingled  with  saddest  tones  of  grief  and  pain. 

Who  has  not,  sometime,  knowing  well  how  vain, 

Sighed  to  live  o'er  life's  sunniest  hours  again? 

And  yet,  how  soon  such  useless  thoughts  are  gone  ; 

And  we  are  looking  upward,  toiling  on 

Toward  something  higher,  better,  more  sublime, 

Opening  before  us  in  life's  golden  time. 

All  time  is  glorious,  if  well  improved. 
If  right  and  equity  are  truly  loved. 


TIME  AND  CHANGE. 


And  what  is  grander  than  a  soul  divine? 
For  loftv  principles  a  sacred  shrine  ; 
By  mean  devices  never  idly  swayed  ; 
But  ever  moving  onward,  undismayed 
By  seeming  failure,  malice,  fraud  or  spite  ; 
Trusting  in  God  that  He  will  guard  the  right. 
To  such,  his  loving  truths  sweetly  appeal, 
And  holier  visions  to  their  sight  reveal 
Of   all  his  wonder-working  ways — a  life 
With  joy  and  peace  unbounded,  ever  rife. 
Yes,  if  our  hearts  are  brave  and  true  and  strong, 
We  shall  find  sweetest  sunlight  all  along 
Life's  pathway.     We  must  work  and  win 
A  certain  conquest  over  wrong  and  sin  ; 
Then  shall  the  pure  light  of  God's  love  divine 
Make  the  rough  places  with  rare  glory  shine. 
His  love  ineffable  !  O  how  it  fills 
The  soul  with  rapture,  and  distills 
The  pearly  dew  of  peace  and  holy  trust 
Upon  the  desolate  and  arid  waste 
Of  human  life;  till  fragrant  flowers  bloom 
Even  around  the  death-bed  and  the  tomb  ! 


l6  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AXD  HOME. 


PAUL   DEANE. 


In  a  deep  woodland  far  away, 

The  fabled  realm  of  nymph  and  fay, 

Stands  a  rude  cottage,  old  and  gray. 

Paul  Deane  had  chosen  this  strange  spot 
In  which  to  build  his  rustic  cot. 
Whate'er  had  been  the  charm  he  sought, 

I  cannot  tell ;  and  yet,  I  know 

The  very  bitterness  of  woe 

Had  made  this  man  a  cynic  now. 

His  sister  Mary,  toiling  there 

To  make  their  home  look  bright  and  fair, 

Had  the  sweet  look  a  saint  might  wear. 

Her  trusting  spirit  had  attained 

The  height  ot  faith  by  martyrs  gained, — 

Hope's  cheering  beacon  never  waned. 

She  grieved  in  silence  oft  to  hear 
His  cruel  taunts,  his  logic  drear, 
His  words  of  withering  doubt  and  fear. 

V 


V 


PAUL  DEANE.  17 


One  wintry  morn,  in  fretful  mood, 
Upon  the  hearthstone  old  and  rude, 
Before  the  glowing  fire  he  stood. 

His  toil  and  hardship  musing  o'er, 

He  said,  ''You  think  God  loves  the  poor  ! 

Life  is  a  mockery  !   nothing  more  ! 

''I  have  no  faith  !     There  is  no  God  ! 
The  Bible  is,  perchance,  a  fraud, 
By  some  imposter  sent  abroad." 

She  turned  with  a  low,  weary  sigh, 
As  if  from  a  sad  reverie, 
Lifting  her  hands  beseechingly  ; 

Like  Jesus,  "answering  not  a  word," 
Though  in  her  heart  each  sentence  heard 
The  deepest  fount  of  feeling  stirred. 

At  length,  he  slowly  walked  away 
To  his  hard  toil,  nor  marked  the  day 
In  its  resplendent  majesty. 

Transformed,  the  forest  met  the  sight, — 
A  crystal  bower  in  frost-work  dight. 
Wrought  by  deft  fingers  in  the  night. 

The  moss-grown  cabin  bending  low 
Beneath  its  weight  of  drifted  snow, 
With  icicles  was  all  aglow. 


% 

iS  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

The  window-panes,  in  rare  device, 
Were  broidered  o'er  with  snowy  lace, 
Tasseled  and  looped  with  dainty  grace. 

The  shrubs  about  the  creaking  door 
With  gleaming  pearls  were  bending  o'er. 
Like  coral  reefs  on  some  bright  shore  ; 

And  countless  diamonds  lustre  shed 
From  the  tall  maples  overhead, — 
A  glittering  canopy  outspread. 

The  silvery  ferns  so  still  and  white, 
Bathed  in  the  soft,  auroral  light, 
Were  tinted  like  the  rainbow  bright. 

A  sea  of  glass  the  lakelet  seemed, 
Whence  rays  of  radiant  glory  beamed, 
As  through  the  woodland  path  it  gleamed. 

And  he  could  walk  there  dumb  and  blind, 
Nor  aught  of  joy  or  gladness  find, 
Doubting  his  God,  hating  mankind  ! 

Mary  in  wonder  looked  around, 
And  moved  by  reverence  profound, 
Knelt  humbly  on  the  shining  ground. 

Her  soul  with  deep  devotion  thrilled, 
And  this  one  thought  her  glad  heart  filled, - 
4 'Thou  art  my  God  !  I  am  thy  child  !" 


7\ 

MEMORIES. 


MEMORIES. 


Sweet  pictures  bright  come  back  to-night 

From  the  old,  old  happy  years, 
When,  nestled  in  my  father's  arms, 
My  hands  clasped  softly  in  his  palms, 
He  soothed  my  childish  fears. 

In  all  the  land,  never  so  grand 

Or  sweet  has  music  seemed, 
As  that  glorious,  rare  old  hymn 
Sung  in  the  twilight  soft  and  dim, 

While  the  stars  above  us  gleamed. 

And  listening  still,  I  feel  the  thrill 

Of  perfect  joy  once  more  : 
"While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks," 
Surely,  I  heard  the  rippling  brooks, 

In  dreamland,  o'er  and  o'er  ! 

And  on  the  ground,  seated  around, 

I  saw  their  faces  shine. 
"The  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down," — 
I  saw  the  harp  and  golden  crown, 

The  glory  all  divine. 


V 


2O  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

The  world  grew  bright  with  holy  light 
When  came  the  seraph  throng, 

With  gleaming  garments  white  and  fair. 

Their  joyous  voices  filled  the  air, — 

"Praise  God,"  their  thrilling  song. 

0  years  gone  by  !   why  will  ve  fly 

And  leave  but  shadows  drear  ? 
The  dreams,  the  aspirations  wild, 
The  yearning  hopes  of  the  eager  child, 

Fruitless  and  vain  appear. 

Yet  once  again,  with  cruel  pain. 

Each  blighted  hope  I  trace. 
'Twas  sweet  to  dream  in  the  long  ago, 
Though  idle  folly  it  seemeth  now. 

For  lack  of  gift  or  grace. 

My  dreams  are  o'er ;  and  evermore 

Beyond  my  reach  I  see 
The  boon  I  thought  earth's  highest  good. 
Dear  Jesus,  Thou  hast  understood, 

And  yet  denied  it  me. 

Thou  knowest  why  I  may  not  fly, — 
A  fledgeling  poor  and  weak. 

1  know  that  on  that  other  shore 
My  spirit  fetterless  shall  soar. 

My  voiceless  soul  shall  speak. 


OUR  LOVED  ONES.  21 


OUR   LOVED   ONES. 


Waking  at  midnight  from  unquiet  sleep, 

I  hear  a  storm  in  wrathful  fury  sweep 

Around  our  door.     The  wild  winds  shriek 

And  moan.     Strange  voices  speak, 

In  muttering  tones,  of  cold  and  want  and  pain  ; 

Then  scream  and  laugh,  or  shout  aloud  again, 

Like  demons  holding  carnival  to  scare 

Poor  homeless,  friendless  creatures  to  despair, — 

Clutching  at  them  with  icy  fingers  fierce, 

Whose  touch,  like  cruel  darts,  their  bodies  pierce. 

O  that  some  power  might  bless  each  hapless  wight 

With  food  and  raiment,  warmth  and  cheery  light! 

Pity,  O  God,  the  suffering  poor  to-night! 

The  dear  ones  with  us  now  are  safe,  I  know  ; 
Yet  noiselessly  about  their  rooms  I  go, 
Placing  my  hand  upon  each  tender  cheek, 
Kissing  their  warm  lips  lightly,  lest  I  break 
The  secret  spell  which  now  so  closely  holds 
Each  joyous  spirit  in  its  slumb'rous  folds. 

Sleep  on,  to-night,  thank  God,  secure  from  harm, 
Heedless  alike  of  cold  and  wind  and  storm  ! 
Yet  here  and  there  a  vacant  room  1  mind  ; 

V : 


vr 

22  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

No  faces  on  the  pillows  can  I  find  ; 
Quickly  I  pass  my  hand  each  one  across, 
Feeling  a  painful  sense  of  want  and  loss. 
The  pearly  snowflakes  whirl  and  drift  around 
One  little  grave,  one  silent,  shadowy  mound. 
Why  do  I  shudder  at  this  chilling  thought? 
I  know,  dear  Willie,  it  can  harm  thee  not. 
Safer  than  all  the  rest  from  pain  and  sin, 
No  ill  can  come  to  thee,  Christ's  fold  within. 
One,  dfawn  by  mystic  bands  of  faith  and  love, 
Went  out  from  us,  life's  hopes  and  joys  to  prove. 
With  him  who  gently  holds  her  girlish  hand, 
Journeying  through  life's  sunny  summerland. 

I  grieve  to  see  my  boys  and  girls  grow  tall. 
Lest  we,  too  soon,  shall  lose  the  nestlings  all. 
If  they,  at  last,  must  drift  away  from  me. 
Launching  their  boats  upon  life's  untried  sea, 
Then  I  can  only  wait  and  hope  and  pray 
That  God  will  be  their  pilot  all  the  way. 
When  tempest-tossed,  on  rock  and  reef  adrift. 
Almighty  Father,  only  Thou  canst  lift 
The  storm-cloud,  calm  the  troubled  deep  ! 
Thou  only  canst  our  treasures  safely  keep  ! 


THE  FOREST  IN  WINTER.  23 


THE   FOREST    IN    WINTER. 


I  will  visit] the  depths  of  the  woodland  wild, 
The  dim  old  forest,  sombre  aisled  : 
In  the  North-wind's  chariot  I  will  go 
Out  in  the  realm  of  the  beautiful  snow, 
The  wonderful  snow. 

I  will  look  for  the  dear  little  chickadees, 
And  the  sparrows  flitting  among  the  trees, 
Singing  their  songs  so  cheery  and  sweet, 
Or  hopping  about  on  the  frozen  sleet 
With  bare  brown  feet. 

The  frost  and  rain  have  a  miracle  wrought, 
More  beautiful  far  than  our  happiest  thought : 
Covered  with  gems  are  the  branches  brown, 
And  myriad  diamonds  are  flashing  down 
From  each  jeweled  crown. 

O,  what  can  compare  with  this  silvan  scene? 
Can  aught  be  more  lovely?    Not  here,  I  ween. 
Even  the  beauties  of  summer-time  seem 
Scarcely  to  rival  the  glint  and  the  gleam 
Of  this  wonderland  dream. 


24  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

Far  up  on  a  branch  of  a  tree- top  high, 
A  sentinel  lone,  with  a  vigilant  eye, 
Is  perched  aloft  on  a  gnarled  old  oak, — 
A  raven  black,  with  ominous  croak 
.  And  dolorous  look. 

The  rabbits  have  borrowed  an  ermine  cloak. 
The  squirrels  come  out  to  laugh  and  mock 
To  chatter  and  scold  at  the  North-wind's  wrath, 
Because  the  gay  leaves  were  all  frozen  to  death 
By  his  icy  breath. 

Each  withered  shrub  and  fern,  low-bowed, 
Is  muffled  close  in  a  ghostly  shroud. 
Out  of  their  priestly  cowls  they  peer. 
And  say,  with  a  quizzical,  comical  leer, 
"Ah  !  why  are  you  here?" 

Jubilant,  joyous,  each  tall  evergreen 
Is  decked  and  bedight  in  a  dazzling  sheen. 
They  nod,  and  beckon  with  hands  reaching  out. 
Tossing  their  beautiful  arms  about 
With  a  gleesome  shout. 

A  whisper  comes  from  the  drooping  larch  ; 
A  sad,  sw6et  requiem  chants  the  birch  ; 
The  willows'  lithe  branches  are  bending  low, 
Their  finger-ti^s  touching  the  frosty  snow 
As  they  sway  to  and  fro. 


THE  FOREST  IN  WINTER.  25 

The  beeches  shiver  and  quiver  with  pain, 
And  rattle  their  crystal  armor  again, 
Clinging  tightly  to  each  tattered  shred 
Of  their  rustling  garments  faded  and  dead, 
With  pitiful  dread. 

Each  tree  has  its  own  sweet  minstrelsy, — 
A  loud  or  soft-toned  melody. 
Methinks,  as  I  listen,  I  plainly  hear, 
From  some  lonely  tree-top,  a  cry  of  fear, 
Or  a  falling  tear. 

The  sadest,  the  deepest  emotion  I  feel 
Over  my  spirit  at  eventide  steal, 
When  hushed  is  the  music  of  every  bird, 
And  scarcely  a  bough  bv  the  wind  is  stirred, 
Or  a  sound  is  heard. 

Grand  and  sublime  is  the  solitude 
Of  the  evening  hours  in  the  silent  wood. 
I  stop  to  listen  with  bated  breath — 
The  hush  and  quiet  a  mystery  hath 

Like  the  stillness  of  death. 

The  moonlight  falls  on  the  trackless  snow, 
And  shadowy  spectres  come  and  go. 
God's  presence  is  here —  a  refuge,  a  tower ! 
As  never  before,  in  this  silent  hour 
I  feel  His  power. 


^-  _ ^ 


POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 


THANKSGIVING   EVENING    THOUGHTS. 


I  have  been  thinking,  since  this  day  is  ended, 
How  in  our  lives  sorrow  and  joy  are  blended. 
Day  of  thanksgiving  !  still  our  hearts  are  sad. 
Day  of  rejoicing  !  How  can  we  be  glad  ? 
How  can  we  be  as  thankful  as  we  ought 
For  all  God's  mercies,  while  the  bitter  thought 
Is  present  with  us,  one  will  never  come 
Again  to  meet  us  in  this  earthly  home? 
The  happiest  voice  of  all  is  hushed  to-night. 
The  face  which  always  shone  with  tenderest  light 
We  cannot  see.  We  miss  the  cheery  notes 
Of  sweet  home  music.  How  each  echo  floats 
Back  from  the  past,  still  brightening  every  room, 
As  silvery  moonbeams  soften  midnight  gloom  ! 

One  year  ago  we  welcomed  home  our  boy  : 
His  lustrous  eyes  were  full  of  hope  and  joy. 
How  could  we  think  death,  in  this  cruel  way, 
Would  rob  us  of  our  treasure  ere  to-day ! 
Shall  we  not  hear  him  speak  or  sing  again? 
O  must  we  call  and  listen  still  in  vain? 
As  billows  wild  break  o'er  some  rock-bound  reef, 
Our  human  hearts  are  crushed  by  waves  of  grief. 


THANKSGIVING    EVENING    THOUGHTS.  27 

How  all  those  scenes  of  weary  care  and  pain 
Pass  and  repass  through  aching  heart  and  brain  ! 


With  smiles  we  hid  as  best  we  could  our  tears, 

And  drove  away  our  cruel,  torturing  fears. 

Hope  spread  the  glamour  of  her  smiles  around  him, 

And  with  her  silken  cords  to  earth-life  bound  him. 

His  trustful  spirit  did  not  faint  or  shrink, 

Though  near  and  nearer  came  he  to  death's  brink. 

We  shuddered  as  the  waves  crept  round  his  feet ; 

While  he,  with  hopetul  heart  and  smile  still  sweet, 

Seemed  not  to  see  the  chilling  flood  so  near ; 

We  knew  not  if  he  felt  a  doubt  or  fear. 

At  last,  the  truth  so  carefully  concealed, 

In  God's  own  time  was  to  his  thought  revealed. 

Then  he  was  ready,  willing,  glad  to  go, 

If  the  good  Father   deemed  it  better  so. 

With  many  a  tender,  loving,  last  farewell, 

Our  precious  boy  "asleep  in  Jesus"  fell. 

Is  he  still  near  us  though  we  cannot  see? 

Is  he  not  with  us  as  he  hoped  to  be  ? 

We  know  the  Father  called  our  dear  one  hence  ; 

Has  He  not  given  us  this  sweet  recompense? 

We  trust,  we  know,  beyond  our  darkened  ken, 

He  walks  and  talks  ;' he  is  alive  again, 

Arrayed  in  glory,  in  seraphic  light : 

I  would  not  call  him  back  to  earth  to-m'srht. 

O 

C  _  > 


28  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

Is  it  not  better  far  than  living  here? 
Though  Earth  is  lovely,  it  is  glorious  there. 

With  listening  angels,  sometime  I  shall  hear 
His  voice  again,  for  he  will  meet  me  there  ; 
Sometime,  I'll  feel  his  arms  about  me  clinging, 
And  hear  him  joyous  anthems  sweetly  singing  ; 
Or  rapturous  peans — soft,  sweet  vesper  lays — 
Melodious  symphonies  and  hymns  of  praise. 
My  heart  cries  out,  "O  God,  Thou  knowest  best ! 
I  humbly  bow  to  thy  supreme  behest. 
I  know  that  Thou  art  good  and  wise  and  just ; 
And,  though  I  cannot  see,  I  still  will  trust." 


GOD'S    WAYS    ARE    BEST.  29 


GOD'S    WAYS   ARE   BEST. 


"God  stay  thee  in  thine  agony,  my  boy, 
I  cannot  see  thee  die." 

— N.P.  WILLIS. 

4kSafe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution, 
He  lives  whom  we  call  dead." 

— H.W.LONGFELLOW. 

Life's  brittle  threads,  long  worn,  were  slowly  breaking 
So  soon  must  come  the  sleep  which  knows  no  waking, 
To  him,  our  boy,  for  whom  the  angel  waited 
As  for  a  traveler  on  the  way  belated. 
Delirious  dreams  and  fancies  hovered  o'er  him, 
While  Memory  spread  her  vivid  scenes  before  him. 
He  joined  the  whirl  of  busy  life  once  more. 
Calling  to  Charlie  !  Charlie  !  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
Thinking  his  friends  around  him  here  and  there  ; 
Seeming,  with  them,  the  old-time  tasks  to  share. 
So  worn  and  tired  !  and  yet,  he  never  slumbered, 
While  all  the  night  the  weary  hours  we  numbered. 
Trembling,  I  crouched  outside  the  open  door, 
With  chilling  fear  and  dread,  as  ne'er  before, 
O'erwhelmed.     I  could  not  see  him  die  ! 
The  very  thought  was  untold  agony. 
With  many  a  wild,  beseeching  prayer 

" ' 


•sr 


30  POEMS  OP'  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

That  God  my  darling  cruel  pain  would  spare, 
Alone  I  battled  with  my  shuddering  heart, 
Until  the  long  night's  blackness  did  depart. 
Then,  with  the  light,  came  strength  again  to  me  ; 
Over   my  weaker  self  a  victory. 

And  still  he  talked  !  a  word,  a  sentence  broken  : 

'•Father!"  and  "Mother!"  often  fondly  spoken, 

As  if  those  names  were  graven  on  his  heart 

Too  deep  to  be  erased — of  it  a  part. 

O  Death  !  if  kind  thy  mission  -here  below, 

How  canst  thou  tear  our  quivering  heart-strings  so? 

Thou  givest  to  the  weary  rest  and  peace  ; 

To  frail  humanity  a  sweet  release 

From  pain  ;  and  yet,  we  cower  and  shrink  from    thee — 

So  grim,  so  dread,  this  awful  mystery  ! 

At  last  sleep  came.  God  only  knew  how  blest, 

How  glad  were  we,  when  he  could  sleep  and  rest ; 

Although  we  knew  so  soon  the  end  must  come, 

And  he  awaken  in  his  heavenly  home. 

Ere  this,  one  morn,  with  vision  clear  and  bright, 

He  greeted  us  with  new  and  strange  delight. 

Conscious  that  he  was  near  "the  vast  untried," 

With  trustful  love  his  face  seemed  glorified. 

He  clung  to  us  with  many  a  fond  embrace, 

And  loving  words  to  make  our  sorrow  less. 

"O,  you  are  all  so  dear  to  me  !"  he  said, 


- 


GOD'S    WAYS    ARE    BEST.  31 


"Yet  do  not  \veep  or  mourn  when  1  am  dead. 
I  will  be  with  you  still, —  a  help  a  guide. 
I  fear  not  death,  for  God  is  by  my  side." 

And  he  is  gone !  our  boy,  our  well-beloved  ! 

Forever  from  our  sight,  while  here,  removed. 

God  bless  the  friends  who  cheered  his  heart  each  day, 

While  death's  chill  shadows  gathered  round  his  way ; 

And  o'er  the  gloom  of  those  sad,  funeral  hours 

Bespread  the  brightness  of  earth's  fairest  flowers. 

Sui'ely,  I  know  it  was  a  priceless  boon 

To  train  for  Heaven  this  bright  and  shining  one  ! 

How  many  hours  I  watched  with  pride  and  joy 

That  harm  came  not  to  him,  my  baby  boy  ; 

And,  in  his  childhood,  that  no  taint  of  sin 

His  guileless  heart  should  ever  enter  in  ; 

That  coarse  vulgarity,  or  words  profane, 

The  lips  I  kissed  so  often  might  not  stain. 

Hatred  and  scorn  for  all  things  low  and  vile 

I  sought  to  stamp  upon  his  mind,  the  while  ; 

And  when  he  grew  from  boyhood  up  to  youth, 

He  was  the  soul  of  manliness  and  truth. 

There  came  a  time  when  I  must  let  him  go 
Out  in  the  world,  his  manhood's  work  to  do. 
This  was  my  heartfelt  prayer  :  ';O  God,  to  thee 
I  give  my  bov  !  O  keep  him  pure  for  me  !" 


A 

32          POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

To  die,  "wearing  the  white  flower  of  a  blameless  life," 

Were  better  far  than  years  of  moil  and  strife. 

What  might  have  been?     The  grief,  the  bitter  woe, 

The  ills  thus  spared  him,  here  I  cannot  know. 

God's  ways  are  best.  I  know  His  love  is  grand. 

Vernon  is  happier  in  that  brighter  land. 

No  pain  or  harm  can  ever  come  to  him  ; 

No  shadows  ever  his  glad  spirit  dim. 

His  feet,  which  once  the  earth  so  bravely  trod, 

Now  proudly  climb  the  eternal  hills  of  God. 


. 


THE    SUNSET    ILLUMINATION. 


33 


THE    SUNSET   ILLUMINATION. 
Nov.    27,    1883. 


A  wondrous  glory  gilds  the  western  sky — 
A  rich,  unrivaled  brilliancy, 
Showing,  with  rare  intensity, 
The  rainbow  tints. 

This  bright,  auroral,  burnished  light 
Seems,  as  we  look,  to  come  to-night 
From  other  worlds  just  out  of  sight 
Beyond  the  hills. 

O  vision  grand,  magnificent ! 
As  if  the  glorious  Orient, 
To  thee,  for  one  brief  hour,  hadst  lent 
Her  sweetest  charm. 

The  bare  brown  trees  are  glorified  ; 
The  gates  of  sapphire  opened  wide 
For  us,  in  this  sweet  eventide  ; 
And  God  is  here. 

Our  robes  the  wings  of  seraphs  brush  : 
We  feel  the  power,  the  fearful  hush, 
As  Moses  at  "the  burning  bush" 
His  presence  felt. 

How  sweet  the  mingled  awe  and  bliss 
Which  come  to  us  in  hours  like  this  ! 
God  writes  his  grandest  mysteries 
On  scrolls  of  fire. 


\ 


34  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    IIOMK. 


SPRINGTIME    GLORIES. 


The  beautiful  Springtime  bright  and  fair, 
With  its  balmy  beauties  rich  and  rare, 
Meets  aiid  greets  us  everywhere. 

The  twittering  birds  dart  through  the  air, 
Or  warble,  in  the  tree-tops  bare, 
Outgushing  notes  of  praise  and  prayer. 

The  willows  unfold  to  our  eager  view 
Their  velvety  catkins  shining  through 
Little  brown  waterproofs  fresh  and  new 

Down  creviced  boulders  dark  and  gray, 
The  singing  brooklets  find  their  way, 
And  laugh  and  dance  in  freedom  gay. 

Violets  peep  from  each  mossy  mound, 
And,  listening,  bend  to  the  joyous  sound 
Of  the  singing  birds  and  brooks  unbound. 

The  frogs'  shrill  vespers  resound  at  eve, 
Rejoicing  their  wintry  haunts  to  leave, 
Echoing  Nature's  glad  reprieve. 


SPRINGTI.NfE    GLORIES. 


The  twilight  tinges  with  golden  hue 

The  fleecy  cloud-caps  ;  and  gleaming  through 

Are  twinkling  stars  and  fathomless  blue. 

In  deep  ravines  the  shadows  creep, 

Their  sceretfantatsies  to  keep 

Where  glinting  moonbeams  rarely  peep. 

There,  frost  and  snow  are  hiding  yet 
Their  exiled  monarch's  coronet, 
With  pearls  and  diamonds  interset. 

Ah,  well  may  Winter  hide  his  face  ! 
The  morrow's  sunshine  may  efface 
Of  his  late  glory  every  trace. 

Then  welcome  be  the  Springtime  bright ! 
Our  hearts  exultant,  with  delight 
And  gratitude  are  filled  to-night. 

Heaven,  smiling,  o'er  the  glad  earth  bends  ; 
Beauty  with  glory  meets  and  blends, 
And  sacred  joy  to  life-work  lends. 


36  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


MY   OLD   BIRCH   TREE. 


Perchance,  you  have  not  seen  this  grand  old  tree, 

Which  was  so  like  a  precious  friend  to  me? 

You  would  not  guess,  if  you  should  see  it  now, 

How  beautiful  it  was  one  year  ago, 

So  prim  it  stands  in  its  accustomed  place, 

Bereft  of  all  its  glory  and  its  grace. 

Nature  had  drest  it  with  such  lavish  care, 

Its  peerless  beauty  was  a  picture,  rare. 

The  sturdy  trunk,  the  branches  far  outspread, 

Formed  a  broad  dome  of  verdure  overhead. 

Long,  swaying  boughs  drooped  almost  to  the  ground, 

With  leafy  twigs  inlaced  and  wove  around. 

So  low  the  branches  grew,  the  children  oft 

Like  squirrels  ran  and  perched  themselves  aloft, 

And  with  the  birds  a  merry  chorus  sang, 

Till  their  glad  voices  through  the  orchard  rang. 

And  sometimes,  mimic  "keeping  house"  they  played, 

While  I  enjoyed  the  cool  and  restful  shade. 

And  do  you  wonder  that  I  loved  this  tree, 
It  was  so  beautiful,  so  fair  to  see? 
But  now,  alas !  its  loveliness  is  gone, — 
Its  drooping  branches  severed,  one  by  one  ! 


& 


MY    OLD    BIRCH    TREE.  37 

It  stands  aloof,  distant  and  cold  to  me, 
Reaching  not  down  its  hands  so  lovingly  ; 
As  people,  sometimes,  whom  to  love  we  try, 
Chill  and  repsl  us,  lacking  sympathy. 
You  ask  me  why  this  sacrifice  was  made? 
Because  some  pear  trees  nestled  in  its  shade. 
They  could  not  feel  the  sunshine  or  the  dew, 
But  dwarfed  and  puny  in  its  shadow  grew. 
And  yet,  I  could  not  bear  to  have  it  so. 

0  ruthless  axe  !  I  felt  each  cruel  blow. 
Of  God's  own  handiwork  it  was  a  part, 
And  every  blow  fell  on  my  quivering  heart. 

Some  things  I  love  ;  I  cannot  tell  you  why 

1  cling  to  them  with  such  tenacity. 

I  cannot  help  the  pain,  or  check  the  tears 
For  what,  to  you,  a  foolish  whim  appears. 
I  love  them  more  than  1  have  words  to  tell. 
They  weave  about  my  heart  some  subtle  spell ; 
And,  if  I  lose  these  dearly  cherished  friends, 
Their  sweet  companionship  forever  ends. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


FIRELIGHT  FANCIES. 


By  the  fire  I  sit  and  dream, 
While  the  glowing  embers  seem 
With  bewild'ring  light  agleam. 

In  this  wierd  and  witching  light, 
Intervening  years  take  flight, — 
Pleasant  fancies  come  to-night. 

Throngs  of  dear  ones  come  and  go, — 
White  robes  tinged  with  golden  glow.- 
One  I  loved  is  with  me  now. 

Dear  old  Grandma  !  even  yet 
Her  image  in  my  heart  is  set, 
A  picture  I  can  ne'er  forget. 

She  crossed  the  Mystic  Tide,  I  know  ; 
And  yet,  methinks  I  see  her  now 
Rocking  softly  to  and  fro. 

Now  beside  her  chair  I  stand, 
Holding  close  the  wrinkled  hand, 
Fair  and  soft  in  Spirit-land. 

A  meek  and  patient,  face  I  see 
Looking  wistfully  at  me, 
Smiling  ever  tenderly. 


FIRELIGHT    FANCIES.  39 

Such  a  look  of  sweet  appeal ! 
All  the  old-time  joy  I  feel 
O'er  my  spirit  softly  steal. 

Yet  the  room  grows  strangely  dim  ; 
For  with  tears  my  eyes  will  brim, 
Whispering  her  favorite  hymn. 

Listen  !  I  can  hear  her  sing, — 
Hear  the  joyous  anthem  ring. 
Now  like  bird-notes  on  the  wing. 

I  can  hear  a  swelling  strain, 
A  glad,  rapturous  refrain, 
Such  as  I  shall  hear  again 

When  the  night  is  past  and  gone, 
On  some  other  starry  morn, 
In  some  other  fairer  dawn, 

Bursting  into  glorious  day; 
W'hen  my  spirit  slips  away 
From  its  prison  walls  of  clay  ; 

Then,  all  pain  and  sorrow  fleeing, 
Filling,  thrilling  all  my  being, 
Comes  the  perfect  joy  of  seeing, 

Face  to  face,  my  Father,  God, 
And  my  Saviour,  Christ  the  Lord, 
By  the  angel  hosts  adored  ! 


4° 


POEMS    OF    NATURE    AKD    HOME. 


Nevermore  through  blinding  tears, 
Mocked  by  phantom  doubts  and  fears, 
Mourning  over  miss-spent  years, 

Joy  triumphant  shall  be  mine  ; 
For  all  spirits  there  shall  shine 
Fair  and  pure  in  light  divine. 


A    MORNING    RIDE. 


A  MORNING    RIDE. 


One  summer  morning,  long  ago, 
When  earth  and  sky  were  all  aglow 

With  daybreak's  rosy  light, 
We  journeyed  a  fair  country  through, 
While  yet  the  sparkling  drops  of  dew 

With  azure  tints  were  bright. 

Tall  thistles  stood  erect  and  proud, 
Veiling  their  faces  in  a  cloud 

Of  filmy,  fleecy  lace. 
Fair  buttercups  the  fields  did  crowd, 
And  clover-heads  were  softly  bowed, 

As  if  in  silent  grace. 

From  wayside  bush  and  tree,  was  heard 
The  sweetest  song  of  every  bird, 

Outgushing  cheerily. 
The  leaflets,  deeply  veined  and  shirred, 
By  the  cool  zephyrs  lightly  stirred, 

Were  dancing  merrily. 

Each  cottage  window  seemed  a-blaze, 
As  o'er  the  hills  the  gleaming  rays 

Of  amber  sunlight  peered, 
Chasing  deep  in  the  darksome  maze 
Of  the  dim  woodland's  hidden  ways, 

The  frighted  shadows  wierd. 


42  POEMS   OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

The  world  had  never  seemed  so  fair  ; 
I  quite  forgot  life's  fret  and  care  ; 

My  heart  sang  all  the  way 
Unspoken  songs  of  praise  and  prayer; 
For  God  and  heaven  were  everywhere 

That  blissful  summer  day. 

We  traversed  hills  and  valleys  wide, 
Where  gleaming  waters  oft  we  spied 

In  many  a  lovely  spot  ; 
And  long  before  the  sun  had  dried 
The  misty  webs  where  fairies  hide, 

We  reached  the  place  we  sought. 

The  greeting  I  shall  ne'er  forget, 
Or  the  dear,  loving  face  we  met 

Within  the  open  door  ; 
The  hands  outreaching  eagerly 
To  clasp  our  own  so  tenderly, 

I  love  to  think  it  o'er. 

The  picture  was  so  sweet,  so  fair  ! 
The  dear  old  lady  standing  there, 

With  look  of  glad  surprise  ; 
The  soft  eyes  and  the  shining  hair  ; 
The  trustful  look  a  saint  might  wear, — 

Are  sacred  memories. 

The  farmhouse,  in  its  grassy  nest. 
Betokened  comfort,  joy  and  rest ; 

Home  pleasures  sweet  and  rare. 
And  while  I  tarried  there  a  guest, 
I  thought  its  inmates  truly  blest, 

Such  loving  hearts  were  there. 


fc 


SABBATH    MORNING    IN    WINTER.  43 


SABBATH   MORNING   IN  WINTER. 


Thou  glorious  morning!  beautiful  and  bright! 

The  world  is  bathed  in  God's  transcendent  light, — 

As  if  the  pearly  gates  had  opened  wide, 

And  earth  and  sky  alike  were  glorified. 

Enraptured,  on  the  scene  sublime  I  gaze, 

And  every  thought  ascends  to  God  in  praise. 

The  glittering  host  of  stars,  receding,  seem 

To  veil  their  faces,  fading  like  a  dream  ; 

The  earth  in  her  bright  garniture  of  snow 

Is  radiant  now  !     O,  can  one  wail  of  woe, 

One  cry  of  agony,  from  grief  or  pain, 

Be  heard  in  all  this  white-robed  land  again  ! 

So  like  an  emblem  of  immortal  light 

This  sacred  morning  dawns  upon  our  sight ! 

O,  what  more  beautiful  than  this  may  be  ! 
What  more  of  glory  can  we  wish  to  see? 
Why  list  for  music  from  the  spirit  world, 
Or  sigh  to  see  bright  angel-wings  unfurled? 
Our  God  has  made  all  things  so  fair  and  bright 
We  need  but  look  around  to  find  delight ; 
And  yet  how  many,  blindfold,  grope  their  way 
In  error,  fearfulness  and  gloom  to-day  ! 
No  jov  or  beautv  meet  their  darkened  si°-ht  ; 

-•      i  ^  O  » 

V 


a- 


XT 

44  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

But  fearful  doubts,  and  shadows  black  as  night. 

Why  walk  so  desolate  'mid  earth's  fair  bloom, 

And  dim  her  brightness  with  imagined  gloom? 

O,  let  us  look  to  God  with  trustful  eyes, 

Nor  make  life's  journey  o'er  "a  bridge  of  sighs  " 

His  richest  blessings  ever  round  us  fall ; 

His  bounteous  gifts  are  full  and  free  to  all. 

Sin  only  mars  our  peace,  our  hope  destroys  ; 

Its  dreadful  presence  blights  our  sweetest  joys. 

If  pure  in  heart,  this  earth  an  Eden  seems  ; 

Its  beauty,  fairer  than  our  rarest  dreams. 

And  He  whose  goodness  far  exceeds  our  thought 

Or  knowledge,  this  glorious  truth  has  taught, — 

That  we  are  His  great  family  ;  and  He, 

In  His  own  time  and  way,  shall  make  man  free 

From  sin's  dark  thralldom  and  the  power  of  death, 

And  perfect  all,  through  penitence  and  faith. 


CHRISTMAS    SONG    FOR    OUR    OLD    HOME.  45 


CHRISTMAS   SONG   FOR   OUR   OLD    HOME. 


Christmas  morning  !  ever  sacred 
For  the  blessed  hope  it  brings  ! 

We  would  praise  Thee,  O  our  Saviour, 
With  a  harp  of  thousand  strings. 

Come,  O  come,  great  God,  our  Father  ! 

Infinite  in  love  and  power; 
Bless  us  with  Thy  gracious  presence, 
And  Thy  spirit  at  this  hour. 

Make  us  ever  meek  and  humble, 
Patient,  bearing  every  cross  ; 

Jesus  shall  each  burden  lighten 
Of  its  heavy  weight  of  dross. 

Perfect  love  alone  shall  lead  us 
By  the  waters  clear  and  still  ; 

Casting  out  all  fear  and  error, 

Sweetest  peace  our  hearts  shall  fill. 

We  are  gathered  at  the  fireside, 

In  this  home  to  all  so  dear, 
To  rejoice  in  Thy  great  goodness, 

Though  some  seats  are  vacant  here. 


46  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

We  feel  our  spirits  chastened, 

And  our  eyes  with  tears  will  fill  ; 

For  we  cannot  see  their  faces, 

E'en  though  they  are  with  us  still. 

Father  !  bless  our  dear  kind  parents, 
For  they  trust  alone  in  Thee  : 

Thou  their  greatest  joy  and  comfort, 
Thou  their  rock,  their  refuge  be  ! 

Oft,  perchance,  they  stop  to  listen 

For  the  ripple  of  that  tide 
Which  shall  bear  some  waiting  spirit 

Safely  to  the  other  side  ; — 

Some  dear  voice  be  hushed  forever. 
In  their  home  now  gladly  heard, 

When  the  waters  of  death's  river 
By  the  boatman's  dip  are  stirred. 

And  we  wonder  who  shall  soonest 
Voyage  o'er  this  untried  sea, — 

Father,  mother,  sister,  brother, — 
Thou  alone  canst  know,  not  we. 

Brightest  beams  come  flashing  over. 

Like  the  morning's  golden  sheen  ; 
Faith  and  hope  are  the  beacon  lights 

From  that  haven  yet  unseen. 

And,  trusting  Him  who  reigns  supreme 
In  wisdom,  grace  and  love, 

We  shall  sometime  greet  each  loved  one 
In  that  better  home  above. 


\ 


fc- 


TRANSFORMATION.  47 


TRANSFORMATION. 


All  day  long  the  pitiless  rain 

Has  beaten  and  dashed  on  each  window-pane  ; 

The  rude  wind  swaying  with  might  and  main 

The  sorrowful  tree-tops  bare. 
And,  watching,  I  saw  the  raindrops  freeze 
On  the  finger-tips  of  the  tall  birch  trees, 
As,  white  and  stark,  they  outreach  to  tease 

Their  neighbors,  the  cedars  fair. 

The  stately  pines,  in  a  friendly  group, 
With  their  weight  of  pearly  gems  a-droop, 
Flutter  and  dance  like  a  merry  troupe, 

While  the  wind-harps  round  them  play. 
And  now,  as  the  sun  puts  off  his  shroud, 
And  brightly  shines  through  the  riven  cloud, 
The  snow-birds  twitter  and  chirp  aloud 

To  frighten  the  shadows  away. 

The  silvery  leaves  of  the  beeches  seem 
Just  waking  up  from  a  long,  sad  dream, 
To  catch  for  a  moment  the  fitful  gleam 

Of  warmth  and  color  and  light. 
Clinging  there  like  a  jeweled  crown, 
They  hide  the  branches,  bare  and  brown, 
Till  the  fierce  winds  batter  and  drive  them  down 

In  the  snow  so  cold  and  white. 


id 

40  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

The  quivering  grass  and  ferns  caress 
The  Earth  in  her  regal,  spotless  dress, 
And  whisper  praise  of  her  loveliness, 

Kissing  her  fair,  dainty  feet; 
For  Winter  now,  with  his  magical  wand, 
Has  touched  the  dear  little  elfin  band, 
And  lo  !  in  ermine  so  rich  and  grand, 

They  wait  the  sunshine  to  greet. 

We  hear  the  brooks  and  the  rivers  say, 
'kThe  Frost-king  soon  must  yield  his  sway; 
The  sunshine  our  fetters  will  melt  away." 

How  sweet  are  these  tokens  to  me  ! 
Desolation  and  death  shall  not  always  reign  ; 
The  birds  and  the  flowers  will  come  again  ; 
Our  glorified  spirits,  from  sorrow  and  pain 

Shall  sometime  and  somewhere  be  free. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    FAITH.  49 


THE    CHAPLET   OF   FAITH. 


Last  night,  in  wildering  dreamland, 

I  saw  a  marvelous  tree  ; 
Laden  with  amaranthine  bloom. 

The  boughs  drooped  over  me. 
But  far  more  beautiful  than  all, 

In  glorious  garments  drest, 
My  sainted  Angel- mother  there 

Received  me  as  her  guest. 

And  the  look  of  soul-lit  glory 

Was  beaming  in  her  face, 
As  in  those  weary,  waiting  hours, — 

A  look  of  heavenly  grace, — 
When  her  true  heart,  self-forgetful 

Of  all  weariness  and  pain, 
Thrilled  with  the  deep  devotion 

Of  her  deathless  love  again. 

There,  close  around  us  in  a  group, 

Were  gathered,  side  by  side, 
The  dear  ones  who  had  gone  before, - 

Loved  faces  glorified, — 
And  clasping  Father's  hand  I  stood. 

How  with  joy  his  face  did  shine 
As  he  caught  the  sweet  reflection 

Of  her  look  of  love  divine! 

Jd. 


~7f 

5O          POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 


I  longed  to  embrace  my  Mother, 

And  press  her  lips  again  ; 
But  she  seemed  so  fair  and  holy, 

And  I  so  poor  and  mean, 
I  could  only  look  and  listen 

To  each  tender,  thrilling  word  : 
"I  have  come  to  bring  good  tidings 

Of  the  truth  so  often  heard. 

"I  find  in  Heaven  peace  and  joy 

Surpassing  every  thought ; 
O,  the  half  was  never  told  you  ! 

Let  this  truth  be  ne'er  forgot. 
Could  you  look  upon  the  Saviour, 

Jesus  Christ,  the  risen  Lord, 
You  would  shout  and  sing  'Hosanna  ! 

Praise  to  the  eternal  God  !' 

"But  that  face,  divine,  supernal, 

Mortal  eyes  may  not  behold  ; 
Or  the  streets  of  yonder  city, 

Likened  unto  precious  gold. 
In  his  own  good  time,  remember, 

You  shall  cross  the  shining  tide  ; 
For  you  see  the  light  is  streaming 

Over  from  the  other  side. 

"You  have  read  each  word  of  promise  ; 

Strive  to  do  God's  holy  will ; 
And  be  sure  He  never  faileth 

His  good  pleasure  to  fulfill. 


THE    CHAPLET    OK    FAITH. 


He  who  ne'er  forgets  or  slumbers, 
Holds  you  in  His  mighty  hand. 

All  shall  be  redeemed  and  happy, — 
Not  one  wanderer  from  this  land. 

"Now  I'll  weave  for  you  a  chaplet 

Of  the  flowers  from  this  tree, 
As  a  seal  of  faith,  undoubting 

Future  immortality. 
But,  if  sin  your  hands  should  blacken, 

It  will  wither,  fade  and  die  ; 
While  its  fragrant  beauty  ever 

Shall  reward  true  piety." 

Then,  with  upward  look,  a  blessing 

Was  besought  for  every  one  ; 
Yet  I  thought  with  deeper  pathos 

For  one  dear,  one  precious  son  ; 
One  around  whom  every  fibre 

Of  her  heart's  pure  love  did  twine, 
In  the  earth-life,  so  devoted, — 

Can  it  now  be  more  divine? 

Vanished  then  the  vision  lovely 

From  my  joyous,  raptured  sight ; 
And  around  me  only  darkness 

And  the  stillness  of  the  night. 
Yes,  O  yes  !  the  dear  Lord  helping, 

We  will  keep  thy  chaplet  pure  ! 
For  we  know  Jehovah  reigneth. 

And  his  promises  are  sure. 


52  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


TO  MY  FATHER  ON  HIS  EIGHTIETH  BIRTH 
DAY. 


Read   at   a   Family  Meeting  on  the   Eightieth  Birthday  of  John   Jerrard,  *f 
Plymouth,  Me.,  Feb.  14,  1880. 

Gladly  we  have  come'  together. 

Songs  of  gratitude  to  raise, 
For  your  life  and  health,  dear  Father, 

Giving  God  alone  the  praise — 

Wonderful  are  all  His  ways  ! 

O,  how  much  of  joy  and  sadness 
Does  your  life's  rich  chalice  hold  ! 

Eighty  years  of  grief  and  gladness, 
Work  and  worship,  cares  untold 
Gifts  and  blessings  manifold. 

Many  scenes,  in  retrospection, 

Crowd  upon  our  thoughts  to-day  ; 

Broken  ties  of  fond  affection, — 

Dear  ones  gone, — O,  where  are  they? 
Graves  are  scattered  by  the  way. 

First,  we  see  an  orphaned  boy. 

Buffeting  the  world  alone, 
Brave  and  hopeful,  full  of  joy. 

Youth  and  boyhood  soon  had  flown, 

And  the  lad  a  man  was    rown. 


A 

TO    MY    FATHER    ON    HIS    EIGHTIETH    BIRTHDAY.         53 

How  erect  and  strong  his  shoulders, 

When  he  first  so  proudly  stood 
'Mid  the  trees  and  granite  boulders 

Of  the  forest's  solitude, 

In  his  cabin  low  and  rude  ! 

How  the  birds  and  squirrels  wondered, 

When  the  sturdy  youngster  came  ; 
When  his  axe  the  saplings  sundered 

For  his  rustic  cottage  frame, — 

For  a  home, — how  sweet  the  name  ! 

Morning,  noon  and  evening,  singing 

Anthems  full  and  clear, 
While  each  heavy  stroke  was  ringing 

Through  the  woodlands  far  and  near, — 

Full  of  manly  pride  and  cheer. 

Yet  this  home  seemed  lone  and  dreary 

On  the  pleasant  hilltop  fair, 
With  its  hearth  so  broad  and  cheery, 

Fashioned  by  untiring  care  ; 

For  no  one  to  love  was  there, 

Till  a  maiden,  shy  and  loving, 

Came  within  its  open  door, 
By  her  trusting  spirit,  proving 

Love's  unwritten,  mystic  lore, 

Taught  by  angels  evermore. 


54          .  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

All  her  present  rimm'd  and  bounded 
By  the  woodlands  and  the  sky  ; 

Yet,  by  Nature's  charms  surrounded, 
Swiftly  on  the  moments  fly  ; 
Winged  by  hope  they  hurry  by. 

Scarce  three  years  of  joy  unmeasured — 
Bliss  of  motherhood  supreme — 

Then  a  severed  ringlet  treasured, 
Of  white  wings  a  fitful  gleam  ! 
Was  it  but  a  cruel  dream  ? 

Still,  with  steady  purpose  striving 
To  improve  their  rural  home, 

By  united  efforts  thriving, 

Reaping  where  their  hands  had  sown, 
As  the  fruitful  years  have  shown, 

Soon,  a  wonderful  magician 

Had  transformed  the  rural  scene  ; 

Brought  them  labor's  sweet  fruition, 
Wide-spread  fields  and  pastures  green, 
Sprinkled  with  the  daisy's  sheen  ; 

While  a  troop  of  laughing  elves 

Played  about  the  farm-house  dear  : — 

Surely,  they  were  not  ourselves! 
Else  some  trickster  has  been  here, 
And  sad  work  has  made,  I  fear. 


TO    MY    FATHER    ON    HIS    EIGHTIETH    BIRTHDAY.          55 

Tkeir's  were  pretty,  childish  graces, 

Brown  and  golden-haired  were  they  ; 
We  have  sober,  wrinkled  faces, 

Faded  are  our  locks  to-day  ; 

They  were  blithe  and  glad  and  gay. 

One  by  one  the  nestlings  left  them, 

Till,  at  last,  they  all  were  gone  ; 
Then  the  parent  birds,  bereft  them, 

Left  the  nest  whence  they  had  flown, 

Left  the  hearth  so  cheerless  grown. 

Now  the  landmarks  seem  uncertain, 

For  we  walk  beneath  a  cloud  ; 
And  we  fain  would  drop  the  curtain 

O'er  the  casket  and  the  shroud, 

Lest  we  weep  and  cry  aloud. 

One,  with  heart  and  soul  unspotted 

As  the  purest,  whitest  snow, 
Left  us, — every  page  unblotted 

On  the  tablets  here  below, — 

To  a  fairer  land  to  go. 

Mother  I  still  our  hearts  are  crying, 

Still  we  reach  our  hands  to  you  ! 
For  we  know  your  love  undying, 

Rich  as  sunshine,  sweet  as  dew, 

Will  be  always  grand  and  true. 

_ V 


56  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

Bitter  mingles  with  the  sweetness 
Of  each  cup  our  lips  may  drain  ; 

And  the  spirit's  full  completeness 
Must  be  purchased  oft  with  pain  ; 
Yet  we  ask  not  help  in  vain. 

And,  to-day,  we  will  remind  us 
Of  the  treasures  with  us  yet ; 

And  the  tears  must  never  blind  us, 
We  must  ne'er  repine  or  fret, 
Though  we  never  can  forget. 

And  we  know  the  dear  ones  ever 
Are  around  us  everywhere  ; 

And,  to-day,  methinks  they  hover 
Very  near  our  Father's  chair, 
Bending  fondly  o'er  him  there. 

Absent  ones  in  thought  are  living 
With  the  group  assembled  here, 

Joining  in  our  glad  thanksgiving 
To  the  God  whom  we  revere, 
Worshiping  with  love  sincere. 

Many  years,  by  His  great  mercy, 
May  you  live,  our  Father  dear. 

Well  and  strong,  serenely  happy, 
Full  of  comfort  and  good  cheer. 
Meeting  oft  your  children  here. 


TO    MY    FATHER    ON    HIS    EIGHTIETH    BIRTHDAY.         57 

May  God  kindly  keep  and  bless  you, 
Is  our  earnest  heartfelt  prayer, — 

Loved  ones  waiting  to  caress  you, 
While  you  climb  each  upward  stair, 
Toward  the  "many  mansions"  fair, 

To  the  last  bright  round  attended 

By  their  faithful  ministry. 
When  this  long,  rich  life  is  ended, 

Glad  their  "welcome  home"  will  be, 

Glad  their  songs  of  victory. 

Life's  sweet  twilight  lengthens,  lingers 

On  the  sunset-lighted  hills. 
Like  the  touch  of  angel  fingers. 

Every  heart  with  rapture  fills  ; 

Every  soul  uplifts  and  thrills  ! 

Through  a  vista  far  outstretching, 

Beautiful  your  life  appears  ! 
Grand  and  glorious,  outreaching 

Over  eighty  well-spent  years, —  " 

Like  a  sheaf  of  golden  ears  ! 

Faith  and  trust  in  Christ,  the  Saviour, 

Fills  your  heart  with  godly  fear  ; 
For  your  strength  is  in  Jehovah, 

The  All-Father,  ever  near, 

Who  will  all    our  burdens  bear. 


XT 

58  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


THE  OLD  FARM-HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 


Ah  !  never  can  I  paint  the  picture  well, 
Or  half  the  pleasures  of  my  childhood  tell ; 
Though  bright  and  glowing  every  scene  appears, 
Changeless  and  beautiful  through  all  the  years. 
I  dream  of  the  old  homestead  day  and  night ; 
Of  the  dear  haunts  which  once  were  my  delight ; 
The  home  by  hills  and  pleasant  valleys  bounded, 
By  lakelet  fair  and  woodland  deep  surrounded. 
No  other  scenes  like  these  my  heart  can  thrill  : 
This  spot,  of  all  the  earth,  is  dearest  still. 

How  sweet  the  springtime  was  when  first  the  trees 

Grew  green  and  bright,  our  happy  hearts  to  please  ; 

When  the  birds  came  as  God's  invited  guests, 

To  choose  their  mates  and  build  their  downy  nests. 

Sparrows  and  robins,  busy  as  the  bees. 

Sang  all  the  while  their  songs  among  the  trees. 

Sweet  violets  and  daisies  every  morn, 

In  rich  attire,  crowded  the  grassy  lawn  ; 

While  grasshoppers  were  making  merry  sound 

In  the  old  orchard  and  the  fields  around. 

And,  in  the  doorway  arched  by  drooping  leaves, 

We  watched  the  swallows  building  'neath  the  eaves. 

The  happiest  working-folks  in  all  the  land 


V 


J& 
/ 

THE    OLD    FARM-HOME    OF    MY    CHILDHOOD.  59 


Each  busy  couple  built  a  palace  grand, 
For  very  gladness  singing  all  the  day. 
O,  that  we  mortals  were  as  wise  as  they  ! 
As  full  of  sweetness  as  each  bird  and  flower, 
Praising  the  great  All-Father  every  hour  ! 

Through  the  long  night-time  while  we  sweetly  slept, 

The  wakeful  frogs  their  tireless  vigils  kept 

In  "Willow  Pond,"  where  shallop,  boat  and  raft 

My  brothers  tried, — full  many  a  luckless  craft. 

Their  crazy  hulks,  sunk  in  the  soft  brown  mold, 

Of  fearful  wrecks  and  sad  disasters  told. 

Near  by,  a  spot  was  closely  walled  around, 

With  rustic  tablet  at  each  moss-grown  mound, 

The  grave  of  every  hapless  bird  and  kitten, 

Whose  epitaphs,  alas  !  were  never  written. 

A  window  where  the  hills  and  valleys  fair 

Blended  in  sweetest  pictures  here  and  there, 

Was  ever  my  retreat  at  sunset's  hour, 

When  earth  and  sky  received  their  richest  dower  ; 

When,  for  a  time,  the  veil  of  clouds  was  riven, 

And  I  could  almost  see  the  gates  of  Heaven. 

How  sweetly  floated  over  hill  and  dell 

The  far-ofT  music  of  the  old  church  bell ! 

Its  mellow  tones  my  listening  spirit  awed, 

And  through  the  stillness  called  my  heart  to  God 

In  sweet  communion,  worship  as  divine 

As  ever  blest  my  soul  at  templed  shrine  ! 

Even  now,  in  dreams,  I  hear  its  distant  chime. 


"7f 

60  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 


Alas  !  how  soon  the  cruel  hand  of  Time 
Despoils  our  treasures  !  Now,  with  bitter  pain, 
We  search  to  find  the  dear  old  home  in  vain. 
The  fields  are  there,  the  house  and  grassy  lawn  ; 
And  yet,  the  charm  which  made  it  home  is  gone. 
God's  hand  has  placed  the  shining  crown  of  gold 
On  father's  brow,  for  all  his  years  are  told. 
No  mother's  face  now  greets  us  at  the  door  ; 
She  waits  our  coming  on  a  fairer  shore. 
Brothers  and  sisters,  whither  are  they  gone? 
They  gather  not  around  the  old  hearthstone. 
We  listen  for  their  voices  each  and  all ;  ' 
They  do  not  answer  to  our  eager  call. 
We  find  them  widely  scattered,  far  and  near, 
Amid  life's  busy  scenes  of  toil  and  care. 
Our  joyous  childhood  seems  but  yesterday. 
Now,  we  grow  old  ;  we  hurry  on  our  way, 
Through  shade  and  sunshine,  ever  searching 
To  find  the  Master's  hand  outreaching 
To  lead  us  where  we  may,  at  last,  in  truth, 
Renew  again  the  spring-time  of  our  youth. 


THE    WILDWOOD    FOUNTAIN.  6l 


THE   WILDWOOD   FOUNTAIN. 


Deeply  hidden  in  a  woodland, 

Is  a  fountain  pure  and  sweet ; 
Its  depths  are  placid  and  serene, 
With  mossy  brim  of  velvet  sheen, 
Where  fairies  love  to  dance,  I  ween, 
And  fabled  wood-nymphs  meet. 

The  deepest  shadows  linger 

Within  this  silvan  nook  ; 
And  scarcely  can  a  sunbeam  bright, 
Or  twinkling  watcher  of  the  night, 
Or  the  moon's  soft  bewitching  light 

Upon  its  surface  look. 

Each  grand  old  forest  monarch 

A  silent  sentry  stands  ; 
And  far  above  its  waters  deep, 
Where  mirrored  beauties  ever  sleep, 
Its  cloistered  secrecy  to  keep. 

They  clasp  their  leafy  hands. 

A  group  of  pleasure-seekers 

Once  sought  this  cool  retreat, 
When,  through  the  over-hanging  trees, 


62  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

The  gently-sighing  summer  breeze 
Sang  softly,  tuneful  melodies 
In  whispers  low  and  sweet. 

And  one,  a  brown-eyed  maiden. 

Was  building  castles  bright ; 
Far  into  the  future  glancing. 
Giving  us  views  entrancing. 
While  over  us  all  were  dancing 

The  shadows  flecked  with  light. 

Beside  her,  on  a  grassy  mound. 

Reclined  a  handsome  youth  ; 
And  he  the  untried  future  scanned, 
And  for  himself  a  pathway  planned, — 
A  bright  career,  a  life-work  grand, 

Wealth,  happiness,  forsooth. 

And  we  who  sat  and  listened 

Were  dreaming,  too,  the  while — 

Youth's  dreams,  so  fair  and  flowery — 

Of  love,  the  old,  old  story  ; 

Or  heights  of  fame  and  glory, 
And  fickle  Fortune's  smile. 

Ah,  nevermore  will  come  again 
The  brightness  of  those  years  ! 
Those  halcvon  davs  are  vanished  all ! 


THE    WILDWOOD    FOUNTAIN.  63 

The  pictures  which  our  hearts  recall — 
We  see  each  cherished  structure  fall, 
Through  unavailing  tears. 

And  now,  how  gladly  would  we  seek 

The  well  of  "Loch  Maree," 
And  in  its  mystic  waters  kind 
Leave  all  our  fretting  cares  behind  ; 
A  cure  for  all  life's  trials  find, — 

Peace  and  humility. 

O  give  us  faith  to  look  beyond 

The  fleeting  things  we  see  ! 
When  fever-fires  our  hearts  are  burning, 
From  maddening  paths  of  folly  turning, 
The  truer  aims  of  life  discerning, 

Our  God  we  come  to  thee  ! 


. 


yf 

64  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


TO   THE    KENDUSKEAG. 


Thy  gleaming  waters,  deep  and  wide, 
With  gathering  impulse  onward  glide  : 
Thy  madcap  freaks  dost  think  to  hide, 

O  laughing  Kenduskeag? 
The  golden  sunlight  now  is  flushing 
Thy  drifts  of  misty  spray,  out-gushing  ; 
O'er  every  barrier  madly  rushing, 
Fair,  fickle  Kenduskeag  ! 

Now  dancing  on  in  merriest  mood, 
As  if  thou  wouldst  be  kind  and  good  ; 
Or,  angry,  reckless,  strong  and  rude, 

All  proper  bounds  o'er-leaping, 
In  sheds  and  cellars,  here  and  there, 
In  shops  and  stables, — everywhere — 
Up  in  our  very  streets  you  dare 

To  come,  so  slily  creeping. 


And  then,  ere  long,  with  mud-stained  face, 
Receding,  back  with  measured  pace, 
With  more  of  sullenness  than  grace, 

To  your  old  haunts  you  steal : 
Where  oft,  with  noiseless  feet,  instead, 


TO    THE    KENDUSKEAG.  65 


You  loiter  on  your  rock-strewn  bed, 
As  if  your  very  life  were  fled,— 

You  scarcely  turn  a  wheel. 

Then  idle,  useless  stands  each  mill, 
Which  runs  so  blithely  at  your  will, 
When,  climbing  to  the  window-sill, 

You  take  a  peep  inside. 
We  do  not  like  your  willful  ways, 
And  will  be  sparing  of  our  praise, 
E'en  when,  in  summer's  gladsome  days, 

'Neath  grassy  banks  you  glide. 

How  sweetly  pictured  are  the  trees 
In  sunny  nooks  and  shadowy  leas, 
As,  softly  swaying  in  the  breeze, 

They  reach  their  hands  to  you. 
We  know  and  prize  these  beauties  well, 
In  many  a  quiet,  flower-fringed  dell ; 
Far  more  than  we  will  ever  tell, 

We  love,  and  fear  thee,  too. 

For,  wicked,  willful,  wayward  stream, 
When  at  their  flood,  thy  waters  seem 
With  smiles  demoniac  a-gleam, 

As  if  on  mischief  bent. 
And  oft,  some  luckless  wight  has  striven 
To  stern  thy  maddened  current,  till  driven 
Where  death  alone  has  succor  given, — 

Canst  thou  not  be  content? 


; 

66  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


Strong  men  have  struggled  with  the  tide 

Of  all  thy  marshaled  waters  wide  ; 

And  well  hast  thou  their  strength  defied, 

Unmindful  of  their  fate. 
And  once  a  mother,  young  and  brave, 
Was  drowned  when  none  were  near  to  save  ; 
And  though  she  battled  with  each  wave, 

Thou  wert  insatiate. 

O  cruel  fate  !  How  terrible  her  fears  ! 

No  earthly  friend  her  cry  for  rescue  hears ; 

The  angry  flood  drowns  all  her  cries  and  tears  ; 

Her  story  none  can  tell ; 
She  met  her  doom  unaided  and  alone. 
How,  for  her  babes,  she  loudly  did  bemoan  ! 
Her  last,  wild  prayer,  alone  to  God  is  known, 

Or  why  it  thus  befell. 

And  we,  when  homeward  bound,  once  rode 
In  terror  through  this  swollen  flood, — 
The  danger  hardly  understood. 

We  could  not  well  turn  back  ; 
Our  dear,  sick  boy  lay  helpless  at  our  side. 
Into  his  cheek  crept  up  the  crimson  tide, — 
Amid  the  waves  out-spreading  far  and  wide, 

O,  could  we  keep  the  track? 

We  found  "Black  Brook,"  as  oft  before, 
Had  swept  the  broad,  low  meadows  o'er, 


TO    THE    KENDUSKEAG.  67 

Reaching  to  the  Xenduskeag's  shore. 

With  fear  my  lips  were  dumb. 
The  gentle  horses,  onward  urged, 
Kept  well  the  road,  so  far  submerged, 
While  all  around  the  water  surged, — 
And  just  beyond  was  Home! 

In  all  our  lives,  there's  many  a  place 
Where  we  a  guiding  hand  can  trace,. — 
A  memory  time  cannot  efface, 

Whether  of  joy  or  pain, — 
And  while  the  lights  and  shadows  fall 
Now  bright,  or  darkly  over  all, 
O  let  no  doubts  our  hearts  appall ; 

We  do  not  trust  in  vain  ! 

We,  like  this 'way  ward,  changeful  stream, 
Amid  the  shadows  and  the  gleam 
Of  many  a  dark  or  pleasant  dream, 
Are  journeying  to  the  sea  ; 
And,  hurrying  on,  we  often  find 
Many  a  thorny  sheaf  to  bind. 
Many  a  pathway,  dim  and  blind, 
Toward  eternity. 


V 


68  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


OUT   IN   THE   STORM. 


A  storm  is  raging  in  fury  without. 

And  wildly  the  snow-wreaths  whirl  about. 

The  weird,  wind-voices  sad  I  hear, 

Like  tones  of  grief  or  cries  of  fear. 

A  piteous  moan,  or  a  bitter  wail 

Comes  surging  along  on  every  gale, 

Till  suffering  millions  seem  to  sigh 

In  a  mingled  note  of  agony  ; 

While  Want  and  Cold,  with  their  icy  breath, 

Drag  them  along  to  the  verge  of  death. 

And  I  sit  list'ning,  dreaming  here, 

Till  faces  wan  through  the  windows  peer, — 

For  Poverty  stalks  abroad.     We  know 

That  thousands  struggle  with  want  and  woe, 

Despair  and  crime  ;  and  God  pity  them  ! 

For  the  world  sees  only  to  condemn, 

And  thrusts  them  out  from  the  warmth  and  light 

Of  joy  and  love  into  darkest  night. 

Gaily,  by  many  a  glowing  hearth, 
Children  are  playing  in  joyous  mirth. 
What  care  they  for  the  bitterest  storm 
In  their  cheery  home-life,  snug  and  warm? 

y 


OUT    IN    THE    STORM. 


With  a  good-night  kiss  and  a  trustful  prayer, 
They  fall  asleep,  with  no  thought  or  care 
For  the  suffering  little  ones  around, 
Who  listen,  perhaps,  to  the  joyous  sound 
Of  their  voices  in  play,  their  laugh  and  song, 
Till,  heartsick  and  weary,  they  hurry  along 
Their  desolate  way  so  dark,  so  drear. 
Their  piteous  pleadings  I  surely  hear  : 

"Saviour  is  thy  mission  ended, 

To  the  Father  now  ascended  ? 

Is  thy  uplifting  hand  withdrawn? 

Fiends  to  crime  are  beckoning  on. 

Lord,  in  mercy  hear  our  cry, 

Crushed  by  want  and  misery  !" 
Jesus  speaks  with  accents  loving, 
Each  impatient  thought  reproving  : 

"You  may  not  our  fullness  see, — 

I  in  God,  and  He  in  me. 

Nothing  lost,  O  holy  Father  ! 

All  Thou  gavest  I  will  gather, 

And  will  raise  them  up  again, 

Without  blemish,  spot  or  stain. 

Willingly  I  would  not  grieve  them  ; 

I  will  ne'er  forsake  or  leave  them." 

With  joy,  men  must  this  truth  receive, 
Who  o'er  lost  sinners  mourn  and  grieve. 
"Be  merciful  !  "  they  beg  and  plead  : 
Lookup  and  shout  for  joy  instead  ! 


vr 

7O  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 


Even  we  would  save  all  men  from  sin, 
And  bring  the  vilest  wanderer  in  ! 
If  such  compassion  be  divine, 
Dare  I  compare  Christ's  love  with  mine? 
Can  adding  our  poor  mite  of  love 
God's  infinite  compassion  move? 
We  have  His  promise  ever  sure. 
His  love  and  mercy  shall  endure. 
Knowing  His  boundless  love  and  care, 
We  trust  His  goodness  here,  and  there 
Where  is  no  storm,  no  cold  or  night, 
No  lonely  outcasts  from  the  light, 
No  aching  hearts,  no  weary  sigh, — 
But  love  and  joy  and  harmonv. 

We  are  His  children,  and  we  know 
The  love  we  on  each  child  bestow  ; 
And  if  our  loved  ones  go  astray, 
We  cannot  tear  our  hearts  away  ; 
We  follow  them  with  tireless  feet 
Through  winter's  cold  and  summer's  heat. 
Had  we  Hia  power  to  make  them  whole, 
To  cleanse  and  heal  the  sin-sick  soul, 
O,  surely,  we  would  never  rest ! 
But  we  would  seek  with  ceaseless  quest 
Till  every  one  was  gathered  in, 
Secure  from  all  the  wiles  of  sin, 
And  the  last  wanderer  should  come 
Back  to  our  arms. — all,  all  at  home  ! 


V 


o^ 

X 

THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  '/I 


THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTH. 


These  merry  friends  no  longer  come — 
Good  fairies — to  each  hearth  and  home. 

Some  pitiless  hand, 

Or  magical  wand, 
Has  driven  them  out  in  the  cold. 

The  dear  little  band 

Are  now  left  astrand 
On  the  bleak  and  desolate  wold. 

Once,  they  were  spirits  potential, 
And  felt  themselves  consequential  ; 

With  no  thought  of  fear, 

Or  of  hearthstones  drear, 
They  chirped  through  the  livelong  night ; 

In  notes  full  of  cheer, 

So  loud  and  so  clear, 
Sang  blithely  each  dear  little  wight. 

When  daylight  came,  they  crept  awav 

Into  some  crevice,  so  timid  were  they, 
Till  the  fire  shone  bright 
On  the  hearth  at  night ; 

Then  out  came  their  shy  little  feet. 
Each  dear  elfin  sprite 
Sang  loud  with  delight 

Of  the  homelife  cheery  and  sweet. 


72  POEMS    OK    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

Once,  in  a  cottage  far  away, 

A  neighbor's  house  where  I  chanced  to  stay, 

One  dear  little  fay 

In  a  sleek  suit  of  gray, 
Looking  so  wise  and  so  bright, 

With  its  wings  did  play 

A  sweet  roundelay, 
To  brighten  the  desolate  night. 

I  sat  in  tne  firelight  glowing. 

Watching  its  coming  and  going  : 
It  came  out  so  still 
From  its  corner  chill, 

To  bask  in  the  fire's  ruddy  light. 
A  soft  little  trill 
The  silence  would  thrill — 

If  I  moved,  it  crept  out  of  sight. 

The  Angel  ot  Death  came  there  that  night 
And  took  in  his  arms  a  cherub  bright ; 

And,  winging  his  flight 

To  the  realms  of  light, 
He  carried  their  darling  away. 

Yet  this  chilling  sight 

Could  never  affright 
These  fairy  folks,  trustful  and  gay. 

Now,  our  children  miss  the  hearing 
Of  their  music  bright  and  cheering. 

No  warm  hearths  are  left ; 

Crickets  are  bereft 
Of  a  shrine  in  each  cottager's  home  ; 

These  wee  folks  so  deft 

Find  never  a  cleft, 
But  shelterless  ever  must  roam. 


^ ^ 

SNOW.  73 

SNOW. 


Over  the  earth  the  glittering  snow 

Sparkles  with  beauty  to-night ; 
Diamonds  and  pearls  in  the  moonbeams  glow, 

Flashing  and  gleaming  with  light; 
The  evergreens,  laden  with  frost  and  sleet, 

Like  crystal  minarets  stand. 
Father  of  light!  Thou  hast  made  it  sweet 

To  live  in  this  ice-clad  land. 

The  snow-flakes  have  danced  back  and  forth, — 

Such  weird,  soft,  fluttering  things. — 
Fairy-like  elves,  they  cover  the  earth 

With  their  tiny,  outspread  wings  ; 
The  rough,  wild  winds,  so  pitiless  oft, 

Shaking  each  sheltering  bough. 
Driving  and  whirling  them  rudely  aloft. 

Or  deep  in  some  crevice  low. 

A  garment  of  beauty  they  weave 

To  garnish  the  poor  frozen  earth. — 
Their  busy,  wee  hands  fain  would  leave 

No  vestige  of  blight  or  dearth, — 
Like  the  mantle  of  faith,  hope  and  peace 

Falling  on  sin-blighted  souls  ; 
By  the  richness  of  truth,  love  and  grace. 

Woven  in  soft,  shining  folds. 

V_! I V 

ir- — n 


74  POEMS    OP'    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

Beautiful  Snow  !  thy  mission  to  earth, 

Ere  long,  must  surely  be  done  ! 
Soon  the  birds  will  be  trilling  their  mirth. 

And  the  flowers  peep  out  at  the  sun. 
The  pine-trees  are  whispering  low 

Of  the  coming  spring-time  bright, 
And  from  the  tips  of  their  fingers  throw 

Thee  farewell  kisses  to-ni<rht. 


SEBASTICOOK.  75 


SEBASTICOOK. 


On  thee,  my  fair  Sebasticook, 
O  how  oft  in  dreams  I  look  ! 
Like  a  picture  rare  and  bright, 
Thou  art  ever  welcome  to  my  sight. 

Yet,  unbidden  start  the  tears, 
Even  after  many  years, 
When  each  cherished  spot  I  see, 
Still  so  fair,  so  dear  to  me. 

On  the  bridge  again  I  stand 
In  the  summer  twilight  bland, 
While  the  lengthening  shadows  deep, 
Like  spectres  o'er  the  water  creep. 

A  mimic  lakelet,  clear  and  fair, 
Sleeps  in  quiet  beauty  there, — 
The  moving  tide  a  while  delayed 
By  granite  wall  and  palisade  ; 

Then  downward  rushing,  rainbow-spanned, 
Making  music  deep  and  grand, 
Whirling,  foaming,  eddying  by — 
Wheels  and  looms    o  merrilv. 


76  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

On  thy  face  the  tall  church  spire 
Leaves  the  sunset's  kiss  of  fire  ; 
And,  at  morn,  the  sunlight  sweet 
Glides  across  with  noiseless  feet. 

Free  at  last  from  all  restraint, 
Ceasing  now  thy  dolorous  plaint. 
Winding,  hurrying  on  again 
From  the  busy  haunts  of  men  ; 

Over  rocky  shallows  gliding, 
Or  'neath  woodland  shadows  hiding, 
Singing,  dancing  here  and  there, 
In  silver-crested  ripples  fair  ; 

Round  the  hill  where  rest  our  dead. 
Passing  now  with  muffled  tread  ; 
Nevermore  our  dear  ones  waking, 
Never  their  long  slumber  breaking  ; 

Onward,  onward,  loitering  never, — 
This  thy  watchword  now  and  ever, — 
Till  thy  varied  tasks  are  done, 
And  the  brighter  goal  is  won. 

We  will  this  grand  lesson  learn, 
For  we,  too,  may  not  return, — 
We  will  do  what  good  we  may 
While  we  pass  along  our  way. 

We  can  ne'er  our  steps  retrace, 
Or  our  thoughtless  deeds  efface  : 
Right  or  wrong,  false  or  true, 
Our  record  is  whate'er  we  do. 

JS __ 


T 


MUSINGS.  77 


MUSINGS. 


How  the  night-time,  still  and  starry, 

Seems  to  hover  over  all ! 
With  what  mystic,  magic  glory 

Do  the  silver  moonbeams  fall, 
In  my  heart  sweet  memories  waking, — 

Sweet,  yet  O,  how  strangely  sad  ! 
As  the  past  in  retrospection 

Mingles  visions  grave  and  glad. 

Childhood  had  its  wealth  of  gladness, 

When  bright  angel-faces  shone 
From  each  fleecy  cloud  above  me, 

Ever  smiling  sweetly  down  ; 
God's  great  love  and  mercy  clasping 

All  the  world  in  close  embrace  ; 
Nothing  to  be  feared  or  dreaded, 

For  I  saw  His  shining  face. 

Through  each  leaf,  each  bud  and  bird-song, 
Came  His  voice  in  love  to  me. 

Nature  sang  a  choral  anthem, — 
O,  how  grand  her  minstrelsy  ! — 

Till  my  heart,  with  rapture  thrilling, 
Must  in  adoration  bow. 

Breathing,  "Ever  gracious  Father, 
'Hol,  O  my  God,  art  Thou  !" 


7$  POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

Years  have  brought  me  care  and  trial ; 

Much  of  sunshine  and  of  shade; — 
One  by  one,  the  bright  tints  changing, 

Till  life's  rose-hued  glories  fade. 
Much  of  weakness  and  of  folly 

Blots  the  page  of  every  year  ; 
And  a  sad  voice  gently  chiding. 

In  the  stillness  oft  I  hear. 

One  by  one,  have  many  shadows 

Dimmed  my  spirit's  inner  light ; 
Yet,  perchance,  to  me  have  given 

Other  hopes  and  visions  bright ; 
Through  Thy  grace,  O  God,  inspiring 

Aspirations  good  and  pure, 
Love  and  faith  and  trust  unfailing  ; 

For  Thy  promises  are  sure. 


MARION    LEE. 


MARION   LEE. 

A  blithesome  child  was  Marion  Lee, 

A  winsome  country  girl, 
A  sweet-faced  little  maiden 

With  never  a  dimple  or  curl ; 
Yet  her  spirit  was  joyous  and  sunny, 

Clear  and  stainless  as  pearl. 

She  was  quaint  and  quiet ;  in  childhood 

Aloof  from  all  she  played, 
Or  away  on  the  craggy  hilltops 

In  childish  wonder  strayed, 
Where  the  ledges  and  granite  boulders 

The  wildest  pictures  made. 

She  was  sensitive  and  timid, 
And  shrank  from  every  eye  ; 

In  self-distrust  and  shyness, 
From  strangers  she  would  fly  ; 

Only  those  who  loved  the  child 
Could  win  her  heart, so  shy. 

And  yet,  in  the  realm  of  nature, 
She  found  friends  everywhere  : 

In  woodland,  field  and  forest, 
She  knew  each  floweret  fair, 

And  loved  all  bright-winged  creatures, - 
Insects  and  birds  of  the  air. 


So  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


She  carried  about  in  her  apron 
The  curious  pets  she  found. — 

Big  beetles,  and  caterpillars 
Curled  up  so  soft  and  round  ; 

Or,  if  she  chanced  to  find  them, 
In  shrouds  of  satin  bound. 

These,  like  Pandora's  fabled  box, 
Blessings  with  wings  contained, 

Which  all  too  quickly  flew  away, 
While  naught,  alas  !  remained  ; 

In  each  fuzzy  ball  was  hidden 
A  life  yet  unattained. 

The  gems  and  jewels  of  winter 
Gave  her  the  keenest  delight. 

She  danced  on  the  frozen  brooklet 
In  the  clear  and  frosty  night ; 

Or  flew  o'er  the  crusted  meadows, 
Like  a  laughing,  joyous  wight. 

She  loved  the  deep-toned  music 

Of  the  noisy  waterfall ; 
And  the  quiet,  deep  seclusion 

Of  the  forest  grand  and  tall. 
She  worshiped  nature's  beauties 

And  the  God  who  made  them  all. 


MARION    LEE.  8l 


Books  were  the  coveted  treasures 
Of  this  hungry-hearted  child  ; 

And  oft  her  yearning  soul  the  hours 
With  glowing  dreams  beguiled. 

Of  an  enchanted  world  of  lore, 
Of  sweetest  hopes  fulfilled. 

The  wonderful  fountain  of  knowledge 
Away  in  the  distance  gleamed. 

O  !  when  might  she  ever  enter 

This  world  of  which  she  dreamed, 

And  gather  its  golden  fruitage? 
How  rich  and  full  it  seemed  ! 

To  her,  these  coveted  blessings 
Came  not  with  the  passing  years  ; 

And  her  eyes,  so  weary  with  watching 
Grew  dim  with  sorrowful  tears. 

Then  she  knelt  in  the  temple  of  nature, 
Telling  her  griefs  and  her  fears. 

s 

For  we,  in  nature's  solitude, 

Come  nearest  the  great  Unseen. 

\Ve  kneel  in  her  "holy  of  holies," 
And  the  veil  is  rent  between  : 

Aye  !  ''the  inner  court"  is  opened 
By  God's  gracious  hand,  I  ween  ! 

V 


S2  POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 

We  worship  so  deeply  His  greatness, 
His  goodness  and  care  over  all, 

If  darksome  and  dreary  our  pathway, 
To  Him  we  can  ever  call ; 

For  never,  without  His  notice, 
Can  even  a  sparrow  tall. 

'Tis  said,  "They  also  serve  the  Lord, 
Who  only  stand  and  wait, — " 

And  Marion  could  be  wise  and  good, 
Lamenting  not  her  fate  ; 

She  could  work  in  the  Master's  vineyard, 
Toiling  early  and  late. 

At  length,  with  blushes,  as  shyly 
As  flowers  their  leaves  unfold, 

Of  a  love  that  was  almost  worship, 
A  whispered  story  was  told, — 

So  old,  yet  so  new  in  its  sweetness, — 
A  poem  in  "blue  and  gold." 

Surely,  sweet  maiden  Marion 
Had  found  her  favored  knight ! 

And  he  loved  her  then  and  ever, 
For  her  soul  so  pure  and  white  ; 

And  they,  in  a  wildwood  cottage,  found 
A  home  and  a  fireside  bright. 


MAHIOX     LEE. 


The  forest  vanished,  as  one  by  one 
The  grand  old  monarchs  fell  ; 

And  wide  green  fields  and  waving  grain 
Of  tireless  endeavor  tell  ; 

While  here  and  there,  on  the  hills  around, 
Young  pioneers  came  to  dwell. 

And,  as  days  and  years  sped  onward, 

In  the  cottages  far  and  near, 
The  needy,  and  the  suffering  ones 

Found  help  and  comfort  there  ; 
For  Marion's  heart  was  strong  and  brave, 

Helpful  and  full  of  cheer. 

She  made  them  garments,  nursed  the  sick 

With  kindliest  good  will ; 
She  helped  them  with  her  willing  hands, 

And  taught  them  thrift  and  skill ; 
The  poor  and  friendless  came  to  her 

Whenever  things  went  ill. 

Even  poor  simple-minded  "Jim" 

Lingered  about  her  door, 
And  always,  in  his  stammering  way, 

Repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
Good  wishes  for  his  faithful  friend, — 

"•Good  wishes,  if  nothing  more." 


POEMS    OF    NATURE    AND    HOME. 


She  pitied  his  poor  darkened  soul 

Struggling  to  find  the  light, 
Though  hopelessly  he  wandered 

In  a  dark  and  starless  night ; 

Yet,  to  win  her  kind  approval, 

He  was  eager  to  do  right. 

There  was  always  room  enough  with  them 

For  an  orphan  child,  or  more, 
However  many  the  "chicks"  might  be 

In  the  dear  home-nest  before. 
They  had  been  orphans,  and  homeless,  too  ; 

And  they  opened  wide  their  door. 

Their  charity  was  devoid  of  show 

Or  boastful  pride  and  noise  ; 
They  never  blew  a  trumpet  loud, — 

It  was  only  "a  still,  small  voice," 
A  whisper,  which,  though  soft  and  low, 

Made  many  hearts  rejoice. 

O,  such  a  life  is  beautiful  ! 

So  full  of  worthiest  deeds, 
And  words  o'erflowing  from  a  heart 

Which  felt  all  human  needs  ! 
So  full  of  love  and  tenderness, — 

Pity  which  clothes  and  feeds  ! 

Ah,  Marion  !  in  those  earlier  years, 
Though  gifts  you  sought,  denied, 

How  beautiful  the  Master's  hand 
Could  make  life's  eventide, 

When,  in  the  light  of  truth  divine, 
Your  work  was  glorified  ! 


ajfe 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 


87 


"BOW   DOWN   THINE   EAR." 


O  Lord,  my  God  !  bow  down  Thine  ear  ! 

Thou  knowest  all  my  need. 
O  gracious  Father,  be  Thou  near  ! 
For  I  am  poor  indeed, — 

So  weak,  so  erring  in  Thy  sight, 
Thou  only  canst  direct  me  right. 

'•Be  merciful,  O  God,  to  me  !" 

Daily  aloud  I  cry  ; 
And  lifting  up  my  hands  to  Thee, 
On  wings  of  faith  I  fly  ; 

For  Thou,  O  God,  art  good  and  kind. 
And  in  Thy  presence  strength  I  find. 

Thou  art  a  shield  !  a  shining  sun, 

Lighting  the  darkest  place  ! 
With-holding  not  from  anyone 
Thy  favor  or  Thy  grace  ; 
Ruling  in  perfect  equity. 
In  grand  and  peerless  majesty  ; 


88  RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 

Plenteous  in  mercy,  truth  and  love  ; 

Giving  Thy  grace  to  all ; 
Willing  Thy  gracious  power  to  prove, 
Whene'er  Thy  children  call ; 
Seeking  each  wanderer  to  win 
From  the  dark,  thorny  paths  of  sin. 

We  feel  Thy  presence  everywhere. 

All-holy  as  Thou  art ! 
Thy  never-failing  love  and  care 
Are  precious  to  each  heart. 
O,  may  we  worship  and  adore 
And  glorifs-  Thee  evermore  ! 

How  rapturous  the  notes  of  praise 

Gushing  from  every  tongue  ! 
Yet,  far  above  the  hvrnns  we  raise. 
The  songs  by  angels  sung  ; 

Their  glorious  theme,  I  know,  will  be 
A  world  from  sin  and  sorrow  free  ! 


LEAD    ME    TO    THE     ROCK    THAT    IS     HIGHER    THAN    I.     89 


LEAD   ME    TO    THE    ROCK    THAT   IS 
HIGHER  THAN   I. 


1  'Lead  me  to  the  Rock  that  is  higher  than  1 !" 
How  often  we  utter  this  heart-yearning  cry, 
When  deep  in  the  shadows  of  sorrow  we  lie. 

This  life  seems  so  brief,  and  the  way  so  obscure, — 
How  the  heart  fain  would  know  there  is  something  sure 
On  which  it  may  rest,  in  the  darkness,  secure  ! 

Our  strength  is  but  weakness.      We  haste  on  our  way 
With  a  joyous  heart,  if  one  gladdening  ray 
Of  life's  bright  sunshine  illumines  the  day. 

But  O  !  when  the  curtains  of  evening  fall, 
And  shroud  our  way  like  a  funeral  pall, 
Till  gathering  darkness  o'ershadows  all, 

Where  then  is  our  refuge?     Our  Saviour  is  near  I 
His  smile  ever  gracious  shall  calm  every  fear, 
And  Bethlehem's  star  light  the  wilderness  drear. 

'Tis  then  we  may  feel  the  Almighty  power 
Of  that  arm  which  encircles  us  every  hour, 
When  the  bright  sun  shines,  or  when  storm-clouds  lower. 


T  -7T 

90  RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 

Our  Father  !  our  God  !  may  Thy  name  be  engraven 

On  every  heart,  and  Thy  love's  mighty  leaven 

Fill  our  weak,  fainting  hearts  with  the  glory  of  heaven. 

Christ's  blood  shed  for  all !   O,  how  good  is  our  God  ! 
Though  we  often  must  bow  'neath  the  chastening  rod, 
Our  faith  in  our  Saviour  is  boundless  and  broad. 

How  wondrous  in  equity,  mercy  and  love  ! 

His  plans  who  can  fathom?     Yet  onward  they  move, 

And,  at  last,  all  shall  meet  in  that  bright  world  above. 


THY    WILL    BE    DONE.  9! 


THY    WILL   BE   DONE. 


Dim  and  obscure  oft  seems  the  way, 
By  many  cares  hedged  in  each  day  ; 
While  eyes  and  heart  the  truant  play, 
Seeking  the  HghJ. 

Through  God's  fair  realm  beneath,  above, 
In  fancy,  spirit-winged  I  move, 
Till  care  and  pain,  by  faith  and  love 
Are  glorified. 

The  wonders  of  this  world  divine, 
Its  beauty,  vastness  of  design, 
To  see  and  feel  and  love  are  mine 
Forevermore. 

The  splendors  of  the  fields  and  trees, 
All  nature's  forms  which  charm  and  please, 
Bring  me  their  sweetest  ministries 
Of  peace  and  joy. 

God  gave  them  each  and  all  to  me  ; 
I  worship  them  most  reverently 
As  parts  of  His  divinity — 

"Praise  ye  the  Lord  !" 

O  praise  His  name,  that  every  day 
His  hand  doth  lead  us  on  our  way  ! 
With  sweetest  trust,  then,  let  us  say, 
4>Th     will  be  done." 


~?r 

92  KEMGIOUS    POEMS. 


THE   PRESENCE   OF   GOD. 


My  spirit  thrills  with  joy,  O  God, 
While  reading  Thy  inspiring  word. 

In  every  glowing  line  I  trace 
^ 
The  richness  of  Thy  truth  and  .grace. 

"O  whither  from  Thtee  shall  I  flee  ! 
Thou  art  continually  with  me." 

Over,  around,  where'er  I  move. 

I  feel  o'ershadowed  by  Thy  love. 

How  can  we  deem  Thee  far  away, 
When  Thou  art  nearer  every  day 

Than  we  dare  even  dream  or  know  ! 

With  trembling  hands,  we  searching  go, 
If  haply  we  may  find  Thee  near, 
Or  touch  Thy  shining  garments  fair  ; 

While  Thou  art  ever  at  our  side, 

Through  all  the  wav  our  surest  guide. 

I  think,  to-day,  while  looking  back 

O'er  life's  uneven,  toilsome  track, 

Where  I  once  thought  the  way  obscure, 
I  plainly  see  that  Thou  wast  near, 

Leading  me  on  through  ways  unknown, 

When  1  believed  myself  alone  ; 

My  heart  so  full  of  grief  and  pain 
I  could  not  find  the  light  again. 


THE    PRESENCE    OF    GOD.  93 

I  saw  not  then  Thy  loving  smile, 
So  sweet  and  tender  all  the  while, 

Still  seeking,  in  my  selfishness, 

For  more,  deserving  even  less  ; 
Borrowing  oft  a  spectre  load 
Of  care  and  trouble  on  the  road, 

While  evils  I  had  never  feared, 

With  bitter  grief  my  heart  have  seared. 

Yearning  to  find  the  truest  good, 

When  at  the  very  fount  I  stood, 

I  took  not  from  Thy  proffered  hand 
The  treasure  sought,  so  rich  and  grand. 

Help  me,  O  God,  to  feel  and  know 

That  Thou  art  with  me  here  below  : 
That  I  may  ever  surely  be, 
In  spirit  and  in  truth,  with  Thee. 


V 


94  RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 


KNOWLEDGE   OF   GOD. 


How  little  do  we  know  of  Christ,  or  God, 
Of  our  almighty  Friend  and  risen  Lord  ! 
So  many  creeds  and  mystic  rites  to  prove, 
We  scarcely  learn  the  lesson  "God  is  love." 
Yet  with  our  boasted  wealth  of  sacred  lore, 
We  know  not  what  the  future  hath  in  store. 

The  world  moves  on,  with  mingled  joys  and  woes, 
And  what  its  wrongs  shall  right,  God  only  knows. 

To  earthly  idols  blindly  clinging  close  ; 

Grasping  for  gold,  yet  finding  only  dross  ; 
Seeking  for  joy  and  peace  in  paths  obscure, 
Though  Jesus  shows  a  pathway  safe  and  sure  ; 

Toiling  and  fainting  many  a  weary  day, 

While  God  and  heaven  seem  very  far  away, — 
We  vaguely  feel  our  need  of  guidance  there, 
Yet  lift  not  up  our  hearts  to  God  in  prayer. 

Anon,  perchance,  dark  clouds  bedim  our  sky, 

And  sudden  danger,  death  and  misery 
Engulf  the  soul  in  surging  waves  of  woe, 
Till  the  heart's  deepest  founts  of  grief  o'erflow, 

'Tis  then  we  lift  up  pleading  hands  and  cry, 

E'en  while  the  Father  has  been  ever  nigh. 
Watching  with  pity  over  our  distress. 
Yearning:  each  wavward  child  to  win  and  bless. 


KNOWLEDGE    OF    GOD.  95 

And  when  to  Him,  with  aching  hearts,  we  turn, 

The  truth  so  sweet  and  beautiful  we  learn, — 
That  God,  our  Father,  is  forever  near, 
To  lift  each  burden,  wipe  away  each  tear. 

Thy  kingdom  come,  O  God,  on  earth  below  ! 

Till  all,  Thy  goodness  and  Thy  mercy  know  ; 
And  knowing,  worship  Thee  with  love  sincere, 
With  humble  reverence  and  with  filial  fear. 

O,  guard  our  feet  from  every  hidden  snare  ! 

Hallowed  be  duty,  sorrow,  pain  and  care  ! 
Till  our  uplifted  hearts  so  pure  may  be, 
That  angels  loud  shall  shout  in  ecstacy 

O'er  souls  once  lost  in  misery  and  sin, 

To  the  Good  Shepherd's  fold  now  gathered  in, 
And  O,  what  joy  through  paradise  shall  ring 
When  a  rejoicing  world  His  praise  shall  sing ! 


f 


96  RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 


DEATH. 


Death  is  called  a  mystic  river. 

Rolling  onward  broad  and  deep  ; 
Through  a  vale  of  shadows,  ever 

Ceaselessly  its  waters  sweep. 
Our  poor  souls  shrink  back  affrighted, 

When  we  near  the  surging  tide  ; 
Yet  the  golden  lamps  are  lighted 

Just  upon  the  other  side  : 

While  the  grand  and  lofty  portal 

Of  the  pearly  gate  between 
Earth  and  Spirit-land  immortal, 

Casts  the  shadows  which  are  seen 
O'er  the  wide-spread  waters  falling, 

Silent,  sad  and  sweet. 
Why,  then,  do  they  seem  appalling, 

Though  they  fall  around  our  feet? 

Though  the  way  seems  dark  and  dreary, 

Jesus  walketh  by  our  side. 
He  will  pity  us  when  weary  ; 

He  will  bear  us  o'er  the  tide  ; 
In  His  grace  and  loving  kindness 

We  may  trust  forevermore. 
He  will  take  away  our  blindness 

Ere    we  reach  the  shinin     shore. 


THE    MERCY   OF    GOD. 


THE    MERCY   OF   GOD. 


Great  Father  !  source  of  love  supreme, 

Forever  kind  and  good, 
Thy  mercy  is  our  grandest  theme, 

A  deep  and  boundless  flood  ! 

Baptize  our  souls  therein,  and  send 

Thy  spirit  like  a  dove, 
Till  all  our  hearts  with  Thine  shall  blend 

In  consecrated  love. 

A  brotherhood  in  bonds  of  faith, 

We  love  to  sing  and  pray  ; 
Clinging  to  Christ  in  life  and  death, 

Nothing  can  bar  our  way. 

Thousands,  drear  darkness  groping  through, 

Shall  soon  the  light  receive  ; 
And  with  rejoicing  hosts  renew 

The  cry,  "Lord,  I  believe." 

O,  take  away  our  sinful  pride 

And  make  us  strong  and  true  ! 
For  God  and  Christ,  whate'er  betide, 

Bravely  our  work  to  do  ! 


98  RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 


Like  children  we  desire  to  be, 

In  reverent  love  and  fear, 
Looking  with  hope  and  trust  to  Thee 

For  help  and  guidance  here. 

O,  be  Thou  very  near  to  all 

Who  seek  to  do  Thy  will ! 
Thou  who  dost  heed  the  sparrows'  fall, 

Thy  shorn  lambs  keep  from  ill. 

May  truth  be  precious  in  our  sight, 
While  we  our  faith  defend, 

Crying  with  rapturous  delight, 
"Jehovah  is  our  Friend  !" 


T 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


• 


IOI 


MY    WEB   OF   LIFE. 


Ah,  sadly  tangled  are  the  silken  threads 

With  which  I  blindly  weave, — poor,  broken  shreds  ! 

How  can  I  mend  my  blunders  here  and  there  ? 

How  shall  I  blend  the  colors  soft  and  fair? 

Alas  !  alas  !  try  ever  as  I  will, 

'Tis  all  the  same, — a  hopeless  failure  still. 

Here,  where  the  roses  and  the  lilies  white, 

I  should  have  woven  on  a  ground-work  bright, 

Bordered  with  violets  and  daisies  fine, 

B rendered  in  many  a  curious  design, — 

Dreaming,  perchance,  the  pattern  I  forget, 

And  blur  my  work  with  tears  of  vain  regret. 

If  only  I  might  pick  the  dark  threads  out, 

Which  seem  to  turn  the  pattern  all  about ; 

If  ever  fairest  colors  I  might  choose, 

Instead  of  all  these  dark  and  sombre  hues, 

And  try  again,  surely  it  would  come  right, 

In  all  the  future,  whether  dark  or  bright. 

Oft,  in  the  past,  has  grim  and  stern  Despair 
Torn  mesh  from  mesh  my  silken  network  rare, — 
Each  fibrous  tissue  a  tenacious  part 
Torn  rudely  from  my  quivering  heart, — 
To  teach  me  more  humility,  through  pain. 


v -?r 

IO2  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

I  tried  to  place  the  threads  all  smooth  again, 
Striving  to  put  blind,  erring  self  aside, 
Crushing  beneath  my  feet  my  foolish  pride, — 
Like  a  caged  wild-bird,  chafing  'gainst  the  bands 
Which  seemed  to  hold  so  tight  my  feeble  hands, — 
I  could  not  send  the  shuttle  where  I  would, 
Or  reach  the  tinted  flosses  where  I  stood. 

If  I  could  be  more  patient,  trusting  more, 
Waiting  God's  time  and  way  to  help  me  o'er 
The  dim,  dark  places,  often  higher  light 
Had  brought  new  bdlluties  clearly  to  my  sight. 
Yet,  God  forgive  me,  if  I  sometimes  feel 
My  spirit  fretting  on  the  hard,  cold  steel ! 
For  hidden  wheels  with  ceaseless  friction  move, 
And,  right  or  wrong,  some  colors  are  inwove. 
The  massive  beam  turns  noiselessly  around, 
On  which  the  golden  threads  of  life  are  wound  : 
Though  patiently  we  weave  year  after  year, 
We  know  not  if  the  end  be  far,  or  near. 
Like  tinseled  baubles  vanish  from  our  sight 
The  things  wherein  we  thought  to  find  delight. 
Our  deepest  sorrow  scarcely  can  efface 
The  imperfect  lines  our  weary  fingers  trace. 

Xo  web  of  all  our  weaving,  bright  or  fair, 
With  the  Great  Master's  pattern  can  compare. 
Faith,  hope  and  love  may  make  our  duty  plain. 
And,  in  the  future,  aid  us  to  attain 
New  strength  and  skill.     An  unseen  hand 
May  help  us  weave  a  texture  rich  and  grand, 
And  make  the  woof  our  hands  can  not  control, 
A  fitting  garment  for  the  fairest  soul. 


A    CHRISTMAS    GIFT.  103 


LINES 

Written  to   accompany  a  Christmas   gift  from   Charlie  Jerrard  to   his   aunt 
Anna  Russell. 

In  sweetest  dreams  oft  comes  to  me 
A  vision  beautiful  to  see, — 
A  shining,  white-winged  argosy, 
With  dear  ones  filled. 

These  radiant  forms  about  me  move  ; 
They  bring  me  tokens  of  their  love, — 
Rich  jewels  from  the  courts  above, 
Divinely  fair. 

A  wondrous  wealth  of  joy  untold, 
Bright  hopes  and  blessings  manifold, 
More  than  my  outstretched  hands  can  hold, 
My  mother  brings. 

She  bids  me  these  rich  treasures  share 
With  all  the  loved  ones  everywhere. 
Who  give  to  me  their  loving  care 
And  sympathy. 

Can  you  not  see  her  starry  wings, 
And  hear  the  jubilant  song  she  sings? 
Rare  messages  of  love  she  brings 
To  you  and  me. 

O  Father  !  kneeling  at  Thy  feet, 
Make  us  like  her  as  pure  and  sweet, 
With  every  grace  of  soul  replete, — 
As  true  to  Thee. 


•Jc 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


MOTHER   AND   CHILD. 


[Inscribed  to  the  friends  of  Charlie  Jerrard.] 

Here  by  my  fireside,  cozy,  snug  and  warm, 

J  sit  and  listen  to  the  dreary  storm. 

Around  my  door  the  wild  winds  whirl  and  crowd, 

Till  gable,  sash  and  cornice  creak  aloud, 

And  the  tall  trees  are  by  their  fury  bowed. 

The  graceful  elms,  in  summer's  pride  aloof, 

Now  drag  their  ice-cold  fingers  on  the  roof: 

In  every  blast  their  rigid  branches  shake 

Till  throbs  of  pity  in  my  heart  awake — 

As  if  some  living  thing  were  pleading  there 

The  warmth  and  comfort  of  my  home  to  share. 

Slowly  ai'e  fading  now  the  embers  bright, — 
I  seem  to  see  far  out  into  the  night, 
Where  silvery  beams  glint  through  a  riven  cloud, 
And  light  the  shadowy  folds  of  earth's  dark  shroud. 
Soft,  wavering  lights  and  shades  are  drifting, 
Like  foam-wreathed  billows,  falling,  lifting, 
Where,  side  by  side,  mother  and  child  are  laid — 
One  grave  grass-grown,  the  other  newly  made. 
And  now  I  see  a  vision  !     Am  I  dreaming? 
'Tis  scarcely  real  ;  yet  'tis  a  pleasant  seeming. 


MOTHER    AND    CHILD.  10 

Beside  me  stands  a  rare  and  radiant  form, 
With  face  so  sweet,  so  tender,  loving,  warm — 
I  have  no  words  to  tell  how  bright  and  fair 
This  being  is  !     To  breathe,  I  hardly  dare. 
And  now  another  comes,  beside  her  stands, 
In  joyful  greeting  clasps  her  outstretched  hands. 

"My  mother  !  mother  !  I  have  come  to  you, 

My  darling  mother,  whom  I  never  knew 

On  earth."     With  a  glad,  thrilling  cry  of  joy, 

The  mother  answers  :     *kO  my  boy  !   my  boy  ! 

Long  I  have  waited,  watching  day  by  day 

Over  your  earth-life,  never  far  away, 

But  near  you  always,  though  unseen  by  you, 

I've  helped  to  make  you  noble,  good  and  true. 

Thou  wert  blest  in  all  things.      Even  a  mother's  care 

Thou  hast  not  lacked,  or  love,  a  measure  rare. 

For  those  who  loved  my  child  so  tenderly, 

My  heart  o'erflows  with  love  and  sympathy. 

But  when  the  Master  deemed  it  wise  and  best 

To  take  you  here  to  be  my  loving  guest, 

With  mother-love  my  heart  was  almost   wild. 
How  in  my  arms  I  longed  to  take  my  child  ! 
Here  in  this  glorious  world  how  blest  are  we  ! 
There  is  so  much  awaiting  you  and  me. 
Such  marvelous  beauty  you  have  never  seen — 
Rare  birds  and  flowers  of  wondrous  hue  and  sheen. 


IO6  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

In  yonder  earth,  soon  fades  the  astrofel ; 
Here,  ever  blooms  the  lovely  asphodel : — 
But  why  should  I  forestall  your  glad  surprise  ! 
Come  now  with  me  where  beauty  never  dies  ; 
Waiting  to  greet  you,  many  you  will  find." 

One  loving  glance  of  recognition  kind 

They  gave  to  me  ;  then,  vanishing  from  sight, 

Left  me  to  feel  again  the  dreary  night ; 

To  hear  the  roof-tree  sob  and  sigh  and  moan  ; 

To  see  and  know  how  desolate  and  lone 

This  earth-life  is,  compared  with  what  may  be 

In  store  for  us  in  God's  eternity. 


TO    MRS.    C.    A.    qyiNBY. 


TO   MRS.    C.    A.    QUINBY. 


Dear  friend  ! — May  I  not  call  you  such, 
If  friendship's  test  be  simply  loving  much? — 
All  hearts  respond  to  the  inspiring  touch 
Of  souls  like  thine. 

We  of  like  precious  faith  do  honor  you. 
To  woman's  noblest  intuitions  true. 
God  give  you  grace,  and  strengthen  you  to  do 
Your  work  of  love  ! 

The  unfortunate,  the  afflicted  ever  find 
In  you  a  true  and  never-failing  friend, 
Whose  sympathy,  so  broad  and  kind, 
Infolds  them  all. 

Co-worker  with  the  faithful  heart  and  hand 
Which  holds  so  bravely  over  sea  and  land 
Our  "Banner"  with  its  colors  grand, — 
God  bless  you  both  ! 

How  many  hearts  with  gratitude  o'erflow 
For  all  your  deeds  of  love,  you  may  not  know  ; 
So  oft  it  seems  the  goodly  seed  we  sow 
No  harvest    ields. 


TOS  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


And  they  who  battle  for  the  right, 
Sometimes  despairing  of  the  light, 
Must  walk  through  shadows  black  as  night, 
With  bleeding  feet. 

Oft  they  must  wrestle  valiantly, 
And  suffer  wrong  and  calumny  ; 
For  some  are  blind,  or  will  not  see 
The  better  way. 

So  many  choose  and  love  the  darkness  more, 
When  God  himself,  as  ne'er  before, 
With  truth  and  light,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Has  filled  the  world. 

He  spreads  His  gospel  everywhere. 
Mercy's  evangels  fill  the  air 
With  pleading  words  of  earnest  prayer  ; 
Will  they  not  heed? 

Ah  !  noble  workers,  ye  must  wait. 
Be  patient,  knowing,  soon  or  late, 
God's  love  o'ercometh  wrong  and  hate, — 
In  Him  we  trust. 


LIFE  S   JOURNEY.  109 


LIFE'S    JOURNEY. 


Many  times,  'tis  dark  ajid  dreary, 
Plodding  on  life's  dusty  road  ; 

And  .we  linger,  weak  and  weary, 
By  the  wayside,  with  our  load. 

Piece  by  piece,  our  pack  unloading. 
Treasured  jewels  seem  but  dross. 

Till  our  hearts  sink  with  foreboding 
And  a  hopeless  sense  of  loss  ; 

Counting  o'er,  with  vain  regretting, 

What  each  golden  grain  has  cost ; 
Never  for  an  hour  forgetting 

How  or  where  a  gem  was  lost. 

. 
Lost  and  gone  are  many  treasures. 

When  we  feel  their  direst  need. 
If  we  miss  life's  sweetest  pleasures, 

Surely,  we  are  poor  indeed  ! 

Oft  we  seek,  on  mountains  lonelv. 

Wood  to  build  our  altar-fires. 
Searching  where  we  gather  only 

Worthless  weeds  and  clinging  briers 


,' 


HO  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Finding  many  a  bramble  lying 

Where  it  most  will  pierce  our  feet ; 

Many  a  thorn,  to  patience  trying, 
'Mid  the  precious  roses  sweet ; 

Wondering  if  the  vague  to-morro\v 
Will  be  brighter  than  to-day  ; 

If  the  sun  will  shine,  or  sorrow 
Like  a  cloud  obscure  our  way. 

Groping  hence  our  way  in  blindness, 
Our  poor  souls  have  no  disguise. 

Will  God's  gracious,  loving  kindness 
Fill  our  hearts  with  glad  surprise? 

Knowing  all  our  past  privations, 

All  the  bitter  now  and  then, 
All  our  higher  aspirations, 
And,  alas!   "what  might  have  been," 

When  we  reach  that  shining  city. 

With  its  many  mansions  fair, 
Will  He  chide  us  most,  or  pity? 

Will  He  bid  us  welcome  there? 

Bowing  down  our  faces  tearful. 

Father,  let  us  cling  to  Thee  ! 
Death's  chill  night  seems  dark  and  fearfulr 

If  Thy  face  we  cannot  see. 

Keep  us,  help  us,  now  and  ever  ! 

Else  our  faith  grows  cold  and  dead. 
Should  all  earthly  ties  dissever, 

Let  us  trust  in  Thee  instead. 


TO    MRS.    ELIZABETH    STONE.  Ill 


TO   MRS.    ELIZABETH   STONE. 


I  know  how  bitter  was  the  cup  God  gave 
To  thee,  my  friend  !  how  cruel  was  the  wave 
Of  grief  from  which  no  earthly  hand  could  save  ! 

Trustful  and  true  thy  faith  in  God  must  be  ! 

His  grace  alone  can  thus  enable  thee 

To  hide  thy  broken  heart,  that  none  may  see  ; 

Despite  thy  sorrow  to  be  cheerful  still, 
Bravely  submitting  to  the  Master's  will, 
Knowing  thy  darling  safe  from  every  ill. 

Sadly  bereaved,  yet  blessed,  O  my  friend, 

Art  thou  !     The  waiting  soon  will  end. 

How  joyously  thy  footsteps  heavenward  tend  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE    BETTER    WAY. 


Wilt  Thou.  O  Father,  lead  us  in  the  way 

Wherein  we  ought  to  follow  dav  bv  day  ! 

O  let  us  take  Thy  hand,  behold  Thy  face  ! 

O  give  us  courage,  hope  and  trustfulness  ! 

We  know  Thy  love  our  knowledge  far  exceeds. 

Thy  hand  doth  chasten  while  it  gently  leads 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  invisible  throne. 

Where  none  have  grace  and  strength  to  walk  alone. 

Ofttimes,  forgetting  God,  in  selfish  pride, 

We  deem  ourselves  secure  without  a  guide  ; 

On  luck  or  something  else  as  vain,  relying  ; 

O'er  trackless  deeps  to  voyage  safely,  trying  ; 

Around  us  gathered  all  we  hold  most  dear, 

Ah,  what  have  we  from  wind  or  tide  to  fear? 

Ere  long,  there  comes  an  unexpected  guest, 

"Who  waits  for  no  man's  leisure,"  whose  behest 

All  must  obey.  Unwelcome  and  unasked 

He  comes  to  us  ;  ofttimes,  so  shrewdly  masked 

We  scarce  suspect  his  errand  or  his  will, 

Till  one  we  love  lies  pale  and  cold  and  still, — 

The  dearest  always,  be  it  a  life  or  love, 

With  everv  fibre  of  our  heart  inwove. 


THE    BETTER    WAV. 


And  when  we  cry,  low  writhing  in  the  dust, 
"Not  this  !  not  this  !  O  spare  us  !  we  will  trust 
And  follow  Thee  !" —  O  mystery  dark  and  deep  ! 
No  answer  cometh.  Doth  the  Master  sleep? 
'Tis  then  we  find  the  pathway  we  have  trod 
So  near  to  death,  so  far  away  from  God," 

If  hard  and  callous  grows  this  human  heart, 

Till  all  its  finer  impulses  depart. 

What  is  our  life-work  worth  ?     If  this  befall  us, 

Its  waste  and  desert  sands  may  well  appal)  us. 

We  cannot  "hush  the  wail  of  wasted  years  ;" 

Useless  alike  our  unavailing  tears. 

We  know  the  universe  is  not  so  wide 

That  one  may  ever  hope  from  God  to  hide, 

Or  from  His  retributive  justice  fly. 

The  Nemesis,  the  merciless  pursuer,  Memory, 

Our  steps  will  track.  Conscience  will  never  sleep 

But  at  his  post  strict  watch  and  ward  will  keep. 

We  try  to  lead  this  sentinel  astray  ; 

Still,  face  to  face,  he  meets  us  every  day. 

In  secret  path  or  circuitous  route  ; 

The  wrong  we  do  will  surely  find  us  out. 

The  better  way  where  truth  and  duty  lie 
May  not  be  hidden  by  our  sophistry. 
A  purer  life  and  better  work  we  find. 
When  we  fonjet  and  leave  ourselves  behind. 


114  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Unselfish  ministration  far  outreaches, 
And  unto  all  a  higher  worship  teaches. 
The  bravest  souls  all  calumny  outlive. 
The  noblest  hearts  are  readiest  to  forgive. 

O 

The  law  of  love  all  duty  underlies, 
And  asks  of  us  no  needless  sacrifice. 

How  oft  some  heart  is  left  to  ache  and  bleed, 
Silently  breaking  while  we  do  not  heed  ! 
Though  justice,  mercy,  duty  plead  in  vain, 
Still  we  inflict  the  needless,  useless  pain. 
What  good  may  we  expect  or  hope  to  find, 
If  we  are  cruel,  thoughtless  or  unkind? 
Can  we  boast  greater  excellence  or  worth? 
Our  God  is  surely  judge  of  all  the  earth  ! 
We  cannot  hide  from  Him  our  petty  lies, 
Or  often  cheat  the  world  in  any  guise. 
The  false  and  true  are  in  the  balance  weighed 
Each  life,  like  gold,  is  skillfully  assayed. 
If  we  are  vanity  and  folly  choosing, 
The  real  good,  the  rarest  treasures  losing, 
Our  conscience  surely  will  not  spare  the  rod, 
Until,  with  willing  hearts,  we  follow  God. 


IX    A    PRISO.V    CELL.  115 


IN   A   PRISON    CELL. 


Alone  in  a  prison  cell  to-night ! 

Alone  with  her  child  in  the  spectral  light, 

A  woman  shudders  and  creeps  from  sight. 

Sad  is  her  burden  of  torturing  fears  ; 
Falling  like  rain  are  her  gathering  tears  ; 
Dreary  and  hopeless  the  future  appears. 

Poor  little  child  !  'tis  a  fearful  blight 

Which  falls  like  a  curse  on  thy  name  to-night, 

Though  sinless  thou  art  as  the  angels  of  light. 

The  hours  pass  wearily,  slowly  on. 

O,  when  will  the  long,  dark  night  be  gone? 

Pleading  and  praying  she  waits  for  the  dawn. 

She  covers  her  head  that  she  may  not  see 

The  phantoms  mocking  her  misery  ; 

Ah,  little  she  thought  what  the  end  would  be  ! 

Oh  !  could  she  go  back  to  her  home  the  same 
As  when  a  girl  from  its  door  she  came, 
Pure  and  free  from  her  sin  and  shame  ! 


Il6  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Ere  the  tempter  came  with  his  smile  so  bland, 
And  a  glamour  fell  from  his  gilded  wand. 
Till  wrong  seemed  right  in  that  ''border-land" 

Where  demons  disguised  their  victims  meet; 
Where  jest  and  laughter  and  music  sweet 
Make  the  illusive  picture  complete. 

Alas  !  alas  !  in  the  harvest  time, 

When  sadly  the  bells  of  memory  chime, 

Bitter  indeed  are  the  fruits  of  crime. 

Baby  tosses  and  moans  and  weeps. 

While  a  wee,  soft  hand  to  her  bosom  creeps. 

Forgetting  her  sorrows,  poor  Magdalen  sleeps, 

Tenderly  watched  by  the  twinkling  stars, 
Till  the  sunshine  falls  o'er  her  in  golden  bars, 
Though  many  a  shadow  its  glory  mars. 

The  bars  of  sunlight  a  ladder  seem  ; 
And  the  footprints  of  angels  softly  gleam 
On  its  shining  rounds,  in  her  fitful  dream. 

Hovering  near,  they  are  seeking  to  win 
Her  soul  from  the  pitfalls  and  mazes  of  sin. 
God  grant  she  may  go  no  more  therein  ! 


THE  NIGHT-WIND'S  STORY.  117 


j£ 


THE   NIGHT-WIND'S   STORY. 


1 


Methinks,  a  weird,  wild  voice  I  hear 

Whispering  in  the  night-time  drear, — 
A  cry  so  weary  and  full  of  pain 
I  listen  to  catch  the  sound  again. 

It  seems  a  mournful,  pleading  cry, 

Intense  with  terrible  agony  ; 
Now,  a  piteous,  childlike  wail 
Heard  afar  in  the  distant  vale. 

Perchance,  'tis  but  some  night-bird's  song, 
Perched  the  woodland  trees  among  ; 
Or  but  a  dream, — Earth  is  so  fair 
And  glorious  in  her  beauty  rare. 
The  Night-wind,  o'er  me  passing  now, 
With  touch  caressing  fans  my  brow, 
Saying  sadly,  wt  'Tis  real  and  true 
This  pitiful  story  I  whisper  to  you  ! 

•' Though  God  has  made  the  earth  so  fair, 
Shadows  and  sunshine  mingle  there. 
E'en  in  a  world  so  full  of  light 
Sin  has  left  its  terrible  blight. 
Deep  are  the  footprints  made  by  crime, — 


~7f 

IlS  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Stern  and  dread  as  the  march  of  time  ; 
And  suffering  thousands  weeping  now, 
Plead  for  our  help  in  their  night  of  woe. 

''Intemperance  sad  work  has  made  ; 

Fair  hopes  and  homes  in  ruin  laid  ; 

While  men  look  on  with  folded  hands, 
Whose  strength  and  skill  could  rivet  bands 

Of  iron,  to  bind  this  Monster  strong, 

Who  drives  his  blinded,  maddened  throng 
To  the  fearful  margin  of  despair, 
To  sink  in  blackest  darkness  there. 

''A  throng  is  following  in  their  train, — 
Their's  the  sorrowful  cry  of  pain, — 

Pleading  and  praying  God  to  save 

Loved  ones  from  this  yawning  grave  ; 
Suffering,  woe  and  deep  disgrace 
Written  on  each  tear-stained  face  ; 

While  the  world  has  crushed  them  down 

With  its  cold  and  cruel  frown. 

"Others  far  in  the  distance  wait, 
Watching,  fearing  some  dear  one's  fate, 
.Secure  in  boasted  strength  of  will, 
Yet  surely  onward  drifting  still. 
With  merry  laugh,  with  jest  and  song, 
The  Tempter  lures  his  prey  along, 


H 


THE    NIGHT- WIND'S    STORY.  119 

From  gilded  saloon  to  the  vilest  den 
Where  sin  has  blackened  the  souls  of  men." 

Ye  sellers  of  the  poisonous  draught 

By  weak,  blind  brothers  madly  quaffed  ! 

God  will  not  always  chide  in  vain  ! 

Think  not  a  moment's  peace  to  gain 
By  your  vile  work  !     O  let  us  pray 
His  hand  this  fearful  tide  will  stay  ! 

Then  there  shall  cease  this  bitter  wail 

From  drunkards'  victims,  wan  and  pale. 


120  TO    ANNIE. 


TO   ANNIE, 


ON   HER  SIXTEENTH     BIRTHDAY. 


Girlhood  round  thee  softly  weaves 
A  tissue  broidered  o'er  with  leaves, 
With  daisies  sweet  and  violet  wreaths. 

Thy  pathway  now  is  bright  and  fair, 
With  dewy  gems  and  bird-songs  rare. 
And  dancing  brooklets  everywhere. 

Thy  spirit  is  as  light  and  free 

As  is  the  brown-winged  honey-bee, 

Hoverin    o'er  the  clover- 


Forget  not  thy  Creator  now  ! 
Whisper,  while  you  reverent  bow, 
Holy,  O  my  God,  art  Thou  ! 

Ever  grateful  peans  sing, 
Purest,  sweetest  incense  bring  ; 
For  the  Lord,  our  God,  is  King. 

Leaning  on  His  mighty  arm, 
Fearing  not  the  wildest  storm, 
Never  aught  shall  do  thee  harm. 


SUBMISSION    AND    TRUST.  121 


SUBMISSION   AND   TRUST. 


Across  fair  fields,  where  softly  played 
Fantastic  waves  of  light  and  shade, 
A  maiden  came,  with  footsteps  slow, 
To  watch  the  sunset's  fading  glow. 
The  dusky  twilight  suited  well 
The  weary  tale  her  sad  eyes  tell. 
Dwarfed  by  disease  and  cruel  pain, 
Ne'er  to  be  helpful,  strong  or  well  again, 
Crouching  beneath  a  sheltering  tree, 
She  pondered  o'er  life's  mistery. 
Which,  round  her  wrapping  like  a  cloud, 
Folded  her  spirit  in  its  shroud. 
"O  why,"  she  sadly  thought,  '-is  there  to  be 
Never  a  day  from  pain  or  sorrow  free? 
Why  blighted  hopes  along  the  way 
Which  once  to  me  seemed  fair  and  gay?" 

Thus  musing  in  despondent  mood, 
Life  seemed  devoid  of  every  good  — 
A  sad,  a  joyless  boon  indeed  — 
No  earthly  friend  of  her  had  need. 
Now  glancing  upward  wearily, 
As  if  some  solace  there  might  be, 


\ 

^fe 


122  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

From  'mid  the  boughs  above  her  head, 
Close  nestled  in  its  downy  bed, 
A  bird  with  sudden  impulse  springs, 
Fluttering  long  its  dainty  wings  ; 
And,  as  if  it  knew  her  thought, 
With  its  sweetest  trilling  sought 
All  its  wealth  of  joy  to  tell — 
And  would  fain  her  grief  dispel. 
The  very  leaflets  seem  to  dance, 
Waking  her  from  her  gloomy  trance  ; 
And,  looking  now  in  glad  surprise, 
As  if  with  newly  opened  eyes, 
She  saw  the  tokens  of  God's  care 
In  rich  profusion  everywhere. 

Tenderly  the  twilight's  glow 

Bathed  the  dewy  fields  below  ; 

While  rarest-tinted  gleams  of  light 

Were  softening  slowly  into  night. 

The  moonbeams,  creeping  o'er  the  hill, 

Glimmered  upon  the  waters  still, 

Of  a  small  lakelet,  fair  and  sweet, 

Whose  silent,  shadowy  retreat 

Was  wrapt  in  drapery  pure  and  white — 

Soft,  drifting  wreaths  of  misty  light ; 

While,  like  a  friendly  watcher,  seemed 

The  light  which  from  each  cottage  gleamed. 

With  mingled  sense  of  joy  and  fear, 


% 

v 

SUBMISSION    AND    TRUST.  123 

She  felt  that  God  was  very  near  ; 
And,  reaching  out,  she  sought  to  grasp 
The  dear,  strong  hand,  holding  in  clasp 
The  world  so  tenderly.      God's  love 
All  Nature's  tuneful  voices  prove. 
Why  should  her  heart  discordant  be 
With  all  this  tuneful  harmony? 
Could  she  not  bravely  bear  the  rod, 
Trusting  the  higher  will  of  God  ? 
Homeless  and  friendless,  still  she  knew 
His  love  was  ever  strong  and  true  ; 
And,  kneeling  in  the  moonlight  there, 
She  softly  breathed  her  trustful  prayer  ; 

"•O  God  !  I'll  question  not  Thy  ways  ; 
My  lips  shall  ever  speak  Thy  praise  ; 
Thou  givest  more  than  I  deserve  ; 
From  duty  I  will  never  swerve  ; 
Forgotten  be  each  bitter  pain — 
I  will  not  be  so  weak  again  ! 
Thou  knowest,  Father,  all  my  need — 
Be  Thou  my  comforter,  indeed  ! 
Henceforth,  I'll  ever  look  to  Thee, 
Nor  murmur  at  my  destiny. 
Loving  and  trusting  Thee  alone, 
Teach  me  to  say,  ;Thy  will  be  done.'  " 


7f 


124  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


LIFE'S    BURDENS. 


We  all,  along  life's  dusty  road, 
Are  bearing  many  a  needless  load  ; 
We  bend  beneath  its  weary  weight, 
And  think  our  burdens  far  too  great, 
So  prone  are  we,  forsooth,  to  borrow 
Unreal  troubles  from  to-morrow, — 
Naming  some  shadowy  semblance,  Sorrow. 

Too  oft,  we  climb  the  distant  hills 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  coming  ills  ; 

Peering  through  mist  and  cloud,  to  see 
If  shadows  in  our  path  may  be. 
Still,  God  is  near — our  guiding  star. 
His  helping  hands  reach  out  so  far : 
He  knows  our  need,  where'er  we  are. 

Life's  duties  we  can  never  choose. 

Our  burdens  we  must  not  refuse  ; 
Yet,  never  let  us  add  to  these 
A  crowd  of  phantom  miseries  ; 

Nor  grieve  the  loss  of  friends  so  dear. 

Are  they  not  with  us  everywhere  ? 

We  touch  the  shining  robes  they  wear. 


LIFE  S    BURDENS.  125 


7f 


I  know  that  sorrow  comes  to  all, 
And  shrouds  us  in  her  sombre  pall  ; 
That  every  heart  sometime  must  see 
Its  garden  of  Gethsemane, — 
"Must  kneel  alone  in  anguish  there, 
And  battle  with  some  fierce  despair ;" 
Yet  God  is  with  us,  even  there. 

Darkness  and  clouds  around  His  face 
Cannot  obscure  its  wondrous  grace  ; 
Nor  does  He  ever  fail  to  send 
The  gracious  Comforter  and  Friend. 
Then  let  us  journey  on,  through  faith, 
Beyond  the  mystery  of  death, 
Which  now  no  sting  or  terror  hath. 


V 


126  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


TO   FRED. 

Thy  tender,  watchful,  loving  care 

Gives  me  the  sweetest  ioy. 
It  makes  all  burdens  light  as  air, 

The  roughest  places  smooth  and  fair. 
I  pray,  God  bless  my  boy. 

O  give  him  every  perfect  gift ! 

May  he  be  good  and  pure, 
Never  in  sin  or  doubt  adrift ! 
His  soul  in  Thy  strong  arms  uplift 

To  heights  sublime  and  sure. 

May  he,  by  faith's  unerring  light, 
The  All-Father,  God,  adore  ! 

May  no  dark  shadows  dim  his  sight ! 

Wisdom  and  strength  to  do  the  right 
O  give  him  evermore  ! 


RETROSPECTION.  127 


RETROSPECTION. 


Hush,  sad  thoughts,  be  still  to-night ! 
You  and  I  need  rest  and  light. 
Ask  not  what  shall  help  us  see 
Through  life's  maze  and  mystery. 

O,  I  miss  the  dear,  kind  faces, 
And  the  old  familiar  places  ; 
Each  and  all  in  pictures  set, 
Surely,  I  can  ne'er  forget. 

Other  friends  I  may  not  find 
Like  the  old,  so  true  and  kind  ! 
Seeking  sympathy  and  love, 
What  of  merit  can  I  prove? 

Can  the  sun  or  summer  rain 
Bring  dead  flowers  to  life  again? 
In  my  "home,  sweet  home"  I  live, 
Asking  not  what  few  will  give. 


128  MISCELLANEOUS    POIiMS. 


LOST   AND   FOUND. 


A  sweet  child-maiden,  like  a  sunbeam  fair, 
Was  my  friend  Etlilh,  tripping  here  and  there, — 
Of  girlish  innocence  a  picture  bright. 
Her  soft  blue  eyes  so  radiant  with  delight, 
Changing  and  sparkling  with  each  happy  thought, 
A  deeper  tint  from  her  brown  ringlets  caught. 
Beloved,  admired  and  petted  everywhere, — 
Alas,  that  shadows  fall  on  aught  so  fair  ! 
Folly  and  sin  brought  down  upon  her  head 
A  fiery  baptism,  direful,  dark  and  dread ; 
Scorching  her  very  life  ;  blighting  with  fears 
The  joy  and  glory  of  her  girlhood  years. 
Who  could  reproach  her  in  her  misery? 
Who  could  but  pity  such  humility? 
If  she  had  sinned  and  brought  this  penance  down 
Should  she  not  work  and  win  a  victor's  crown? 
Writh  sad  eyes  piteous  through  falling  tears, 
She  looked  down  vistas  dark  ;  in  coming  years 
To  meet,  perhaps,  cold  words  and  cruel  scorn, 
Till  her  poor  aching  heart  was  crushed  and  torn. 

But  God  in  pity  took  the  withered  flower 
To  bloom  anew  in  Heaven's  celestial  bower  ; 
Released  at  last  her  suffering  soul. 


LOST    AND    FOUND.  129 

And  made  its  crimson  stains  as  white  as  wool  : 

And  we  who,  weeping,  stood  around  her  there, 

Saw  death  transformed  into  an  angel  fair  ; 

The  cold,  dark  visage  we  had  thought  to  see, 

Transfigured  into  love  and  sympathy. 

Rare,  wondrous  beauty  met  her  earth-dimmed  sight, 

And  rapturous  exclamations  of  delight 

Fell  from  her  lips.     Alas  !  no  mortal  eye 

With  her  beyond  the  vale  of  life  could  see  ! 

Unheard  the  music  which  relieved  her  pain  ! 

How  sure  were  we  the  Lost  was  found  again. 

She  passed  away,  revealing  to  our  sight 

A  brightening  glint  of  garments  pure  and  white  ; 

Of  "shadowy  fleets  sailing  on  unknown  seas  ;" 

Of  pearly  gates  beyond  ;  of  flowers  and  trees  ; 

And,  wrapt  in  awe  and  wonder,  well  we  knew 

That  angels  came  to  help  our  darling  through 

That  last  ordeal ;  and  on  the  other  side, 

The  blessed  Jesus  was  her  safe,  sure  guide. 


130  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE    GREAT   REFORM. 


We  thank  Thee,  O  our  God,  to-day, 
That  this  good  work  is  done  ! 

They  who  have  battled  for  the  right, 
A  victory  have  won. 

Each  pine-clad  hill  and  ice-bound  glen 
Echoes  the  great,  glad  cry, 

"No  longer  here  shall  brother  men 
Upon  the  gallows  die." 

The  earth  is  clad  in  pure  white  snow, 

As  soft  as  eider  down, 
Gleaming  with  pearls  and  brilliant  gems, 

Fair  as  a  regal  crown. 

Thus  fitly  drest,  dear  Maine  receives 
The  people's  glad  acclaim, 

As,  with  uplifted  hands,  they  wipe 
This  blot  from  her  fair  name. 

Now  take  those  spectral  ruins  down 
And  bury  them  from  sight ; 

No  longer  may  their  shadows  frown 
Upon  God's  truth  and  right. 


THE    GREAT    REFORM. 


Honor  and  grateful  praise  we  give 

The  noble,  earnest  few, 
Who,  heeding  not  men's  scoffs  and  jeers, 

To  God  and  man  were  true. 

We  scorn  to  keep  a  barbarous  law 

In  this  enlightened  land  ; 
For  Christ  the  Lord  came  not  in  vain 

Upon  His  mission  grand. 

He  taught  us  to  be  merciful  ; 

He  told  us  how  to  live  ; 
He  taught  as  never  man  before, 

"  'Tis  God-like  to  forgive." 

"Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay," 

Is  written  in  His  word  : 
Evil  with  goodness  overcome,  — 

This  mandate  ye  have  heard. 

Though  sin  and  crime  and  misery 
Walk  hand  in  hand  to-day, 

Remorse  and  terror,  in  their  steps, 
Follow  the  same  dark  way  ; 

And  he  who  plunges  into  crime, 
Deep  anguish  must  endure  : 

Though  wicked  hands  together  join, 
His  punishment  is  sure. 


132  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Then  let  our  fallen  brother  man 
Keep  the  poor  boon  of  life, 

Till  He  who  gave  that  boon,  shall  end 
Its  bitterness  and  strife. 

Keep  him  from  dread  temptation  safe 
Within  the  prison  walls  ; 

A  life-long  penance  is  enough, 
Though  Justice  loudly  calls. 

Surely,  at  last,  remorseful  pains 

And  penitential  tears 
Shall  wash  away  the  fearful  stains, 

Through  all  the  weary  years. 


TO    ETHEL.  133 


TO   ETHEL. 

Out  from  her  home  the  loving  mother  went, 

Not  knowing  that  the  Master  then  had  sent 

His  messenger  for  her, — that  nevermore 

Her  feet  should  walk  within  that  open  door. 

Yet  from  her  lips  as  precious  precept  fell 

As  if  she  knew  it  was  her  last  farewell. 

"Be  a  good  girl !"     What  more  could  mother  say, 

In  tender  admonition,  ere  she  went  away? 

Deep  in  your  heart,  her  words  will  ever  be 

A  sacred  amulet  bestowed  on  thee, 

To  keep  thy  life  from  every  evil  free. 

O,  Father  !     Thou  wilt  ever  keep  and  bless 

With  watchful  love  and  care,  the  motherless. 


134  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


TO   BERTHA, 


ON    HER    TENTH    BIRTHDAY. 


Happy  child  !  with  nimble  feet, 
Dancing  through  the  hours  ; 

In  life's  sunny  meadows  sweet, 
Seeking  fairest  flowers. 

Let  no  evil  passions  blight 
These  thy  happiest  years  ; 

Gather  fruits  of  truth  and  right ; 
Sow  no  seed  for  bitter  tears. 

By  thy  gentle,  loving  graces, 
Lighten  everybody's  care  ; 

Cheer  the  saddest  hearts  and  faces  ; 
Scatter  sunshine  everywhere. 


THE  SIBYL'S  PROPHECY.  135 


THE   SIBYL'S   PROPHECY. 


A  wandering  sibyl  met  a  queenly  maiden, 

Whose  heart  with  pride  and  passion  seemed  o'erladen. 

She  asked  the  dame  her  future  to  reveal, 

And  show  her  truthfully  life's  woe  and  weal. 

The  sibyl  answered  :     "Unto  me  is  given 

The  power  to  read  the  oracles  of  Heaven. 

If  thou  dost  deem  the  picture  over-wrought, 

Of  evil  too  prophetic,  ask  me  not 

Why  thus  it  seemeth, — only  trust  and  wait, 

And  thou  shall  see  God's  wisdom,  soon  or  late. 

"Thou  hast  a  peerless  form,  a  comely  face  ; 
For  thy  immortal  soul  fit  dwelling-place. 
And  dost  thou  know  it  is  a  temple  grand, 
So  strangely  fashioned  by  God's  sovereign  hand  ? 
This  structure,  wonderful  in  every  part. 
Contains  a  sacred  shrine, — thy  woman's  heart. 
And  the  Great  King,  the  Almighty  One, 
Blest  it,  and  called  it  good  when  it  was  done. 
Thou  art  His  child, — princess  if  He  be  king, — 
And  He  has  left  to  thee  its  care  and  furnishing. 

"Into  thy  presence  troop  gay  forms  and  faces, 
Bright  Joy,  with  Mirth  and  many  sportive  Graces. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Fair  Hopes,  .sweet  Fancies  people  every  room, 

Thronging  the  sunn}'  chambers  of  thy  home. 

Here,  Duty  scarcely  seems  a  favored  guest. 

Pleasure  and  Folly  rule  with  high  behest ; 

While  Pride  asserts  her  power  to  sway 

The  mystic  cycles  of  thy  destiny. 

On  dancing  feet,  the  rnerry  moments  go, 

With  scarce  a  thought  for  all  the  wide  world's  woe. 

"Years  fly.     With  busy  fingers,  time  and  change 

Will  bring  to  thee  thy  duties  new  and  strange. 

Life  teaches  sadder  lessons,  sterner  truth 

Than  thou  hast  ever  dreamed  of  in  thy  youth. 

They  are  but  myths,  though  precious  in  their  seeming. 

The  dreams  which  all  thy  life  thou  hast  been  dreaming. 

Thou  wilt  awaken  from  these  visions  fair, 

When  chilling  sorrows  meet  thee,  here  and  there. 

Weary,  and  burdened  oft  with  griefs  untold, 

And  needless  chidings,  will  thy  heart  grow  cold. 

"Trouble  will  come,  with  weariness  and  pain, 
Where  now.  health,  strength  and  beauty  only  reign. 
Then  gladly  wouldst  thou  take  the  good  King's  hand, 
And  journey  onward  to  the  Better  Land. 
Alas  !  alas  !  thou  canst  not  hasten  there  ; 
And  if  with  breaking  heart,  must  tarry  here. 
All  have  their  work  to  do, — a  vineyard  fair 
In  the  Great  Master's  realm, — somewhere, 


THE  SIBYL'S  PROPHECY.  137 


A  lifework  grand,  or  dark  and  desolate  ; 
Whate'er,  where'er  the  King  may  designate. 

"Youth's  sunshine  fades.   Shadows  come  darkly  creeping 
Over  the  world,  till  Faith  seems  dead,  or  sleeping. 
One  by  one,  fond  dreams,  bright  hopes  will  fade  ; 
And  fairest  forms  be  numbered  with  the  dead. 
With  thine  own  hands  oft  must  a  grave  be  made, 
Wherein,  some  cherished  hope  or  joy  is  laid, — 
Within  the  shadow  of  some  deep  recess. 
Where  none  will  ever  see  or  know  or  guess  ; 
Some  inner  chamber  hushed  and  silent  grow, 
Where  joyous  spirits  once  were  wont  to  go. 

"And  there,  perhaps,  with  cruel,  mocking  mien, 
Those  whom  thou  wouldst  forget  will  come,  I  ween, 
And  crouch  beside  thy  hearthstone  night  and  day  ; 
Nor  canst  thou  drive  the  unwelcome  throng  away. 
They'll  crowd  around  the  faithful  sentinel 
Who  there  will  keep  his  post,  guarding  it  well, 
Else  all  the  world  may  see — O  God  forbid  ! — 
The  gloomy  phantoms  in  each  chamber  hid. 
O,  strive  to  keep  thy  life  unstained  and  pure  ! 
'Break  not,  O  woman's  heart,  but  still  endure  !' 

"Thy  palace  home  too  soon  will  crumble  down, 
Decay  and  ruin  claim  it  for  their  own. 
Then  the  Great  King,  with  kind  compassion  filled, 
Will  come,  its  broken  columns  to  rebuild  ; 


\ 

138  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

To  sweep  the  rubbish  out,  the  dust  of  years, 

And  wash  away  the  stains  of  oft-shed  tears. 

He'll  light  the  chambers  with  a  holier  light, 

And  bring  thee  truer  friends,  with  faces  bright, 

To  drive  away  all  doubt  and  darkness  there  ; 

And  fill  the  garnished  rooms  with  praise  and  prayer, 

"With  joy  and  peace,  faith,  hope  and  charity, 
With  love  and  friendship  true,  with  sympathy 
As  sweet  and  beautiful  as  earth  may  know, 
Or  God's  kind  hand  on  mortals  here  bestow. 
Then  will  the  windows,  even,  blaze  and  shine 
With  the  effulgence  of  His  light  divine  ; 
And,  through  the  open  door,  his  angels  go 
On  holy  ministrations  to  and  fro, — 
So  changed,  so  wonderful  will  be  its  beauty, 
When  love  is  law,  and  welcome  every  duty. 

"Dost  think  my  story  an  enigma  blind? 
Canst  thou,  therein,  no  hidden  meaning  find? 
While  thou  dost  fill  thy  heart  with  vain  conceits, 
And  while  a  selfish  greed  thy  spirit  cheats, 
While  earthly  good,  alone,  you  seek  to  gain, 
Thou'lt  surely  gather  most  of  bitter  pain. 
When  thou  dost  bring  to  God  a  willing  heart, 
And  all  thy  gloomy  doubts  and  fears  depart, 
Then  will  the  Father  make  thy  heart  a  shrine 
Wherein  His  wondrous  love  and  grace  shall  shine. 


RAKFIE'S  GOODNIGHT.  139 


RAFFIE'S    GOODNIGHT. 


'Tis  Raffle's  bedtime,  and  he  vainly  tries 
To  open  wide  his  big,  black,  shining  eyes. 
That  he  is  sleepy,  he  cannot  disguise. 

He  creeps  into  my  arms,  a  welcome  guest. 
He  cannot  quite  forsake  the  cozy  nest 
Where  he  has  ever  found  his  sweetest  rest. 

"O,  how  I  love  you  mother,  mother  dear  ! 
But  I  am  growing  big  and  tall ;  I  fear 
I  cannot  always  come  and  nestle  here. 

"Now  look  !     My  feet  will  almost  touch  the  floor. 
And  see  how  high  my  mark  is  on  the  door, 
There  beside  Bertha's  ! — mine's  a  little  lower. 

"I'm  'most  a  man, — mother,  you  musn't  smile  ! 
I  love  to  cuddle  just  a  little  while, 
But  not  in  any  silly,  baby  style. 

"With  kisses,  one,  two,  three, — a  score, 
My  mouth  and  lips  are  bubbling  o'er. 
O,  I  must  kiss  you  just  once  more  ! 

"Tuck  me  in  bed  now,  and  I'll  go  to  sleep. 

No  matter,  mother,  if  the  dark  is  deep. 

I  know  that  God  is  good,  and  He  will  keep 

"Me  safe  always.     I'm  sleepy  quite  ; 

Please  shut  the  door  and  take  away  the  light. 

Another  kiss,  and  now,  mamma,  good-night!" 


^ 


140  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

TO   VERNOX. 

<  >n  the  eve  of  his  departure  for  Poughkeepsie. 


Dost  know,  my  boy,  how  sad  will  be 
My  heart,  when  thou  art  gone  from  me? 
How,  day  and  night,  I'll  think  of  thee? 

How  I  shall  miss  thee,  everywhere! 
And  every  thought  will  be  a  prayer 
That  God  will  keep  thee  in  His  care. 

His  love  alone  surpasseth  mine, 

All-holy,  infinite,  divine, — 

A  treasure  which  is  always  thine. 

O,  think  of  this,  where'er  you  go, — 
The  Father's  love  doth  overflow 
All  bounds  and  barriers  here  below. 

Then  firmly  grasp  His  loving  hand. 
Whate'er  betide  thee,  firmly  stand  ; 
To  do  the  right,  is  brave  and  grand. 

O  God,  Thou  knowest  all  our  need  ! 
The  path  of  life  is  rough,  indeed  ; 
And  oft  our  wayworn  feet  must  bleed. 

Watch  over  him,  our  precious  boy  ! 

O,  never  may  his  hand  destroy 

Life's  brightest  hopes,  earth's  sweetest  joy  I 

Thy  hand  alone  canst  safely  guide 
His  barque  upon  life's  ocean  wide, 
Now  launching  on  a  sunlit  tide. 


RESIGNATION. 


RESIGNATION. 


I  stood  upon  the  border-land 
Of  a  country  bright  and  fair. 

While  life,  in  all  its  sweetness, 
Seemed  fading  from  me  there. 

I  could  not  leave  my  dear  ones, 

A  brighter  home  to  gain  ; 
Though  happy  voices  called  me, 

My  lips  were  mute  with  pain. 

0  why,  in  thought  I  questioned, 
Why  must  it  be  like  this? 

So  dim  the  path,  in  the  darkness 
The  way  I'll  surely  miss  ! 

A  hand  divinely  tender 

Then  clasped  and  held  my  own. 

1  cried  out  in  my  gladness, 

'•Father,  i'm  not  alone  ! 

<4O,  help  me  to  be  strong  and  brave  ! 

E'en  though  I  may  not  see 
My  way  through  the  mists  and  shadows, 

I  still  will  trust  in  Thee." 


A  little  green  grave 
Where  the  maples  wave, 

Shadows  my  heart  to-night ; 
And  the  bitter  pain 
Comes  back  again, 

Till  I  cannot  see  the  li^ht. 


I42  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


OUR   MISCHIEF-MAKER. 


Dear  Mira  is  my  gleeful  srirl, — 

J       O  O 

My  merry,  sunny-hearted  pearl. 

Who  would  not  laugh,  must  be  a  churl. 

At  her  mimicry  and  fun  ; 
And  yet,  when  love  or  need  demands, 
Who  has  more  helpful,  willing  hands, 
More  bravely  in  life's  conflict  stands 

Till  victory  is  won  ? 

For  much  we  prize  an  earnest  will 

The  simplest  duties  to  fulfill. 

Mere  words,  not  deeds,  our  spirits  chill- 

The  winepress,  Jesus  trod  ! 
We  all,  in  humblest  words  and  ways, 
May  chant  our  lowly,  trustful  lays, 
Our  songs  of  gratitude  and  praise, 

Close  in  the  ear  of  God. 


THE    SCOTTISH    EMIGRANTS. 


'43 


THE   SCOTTISH    EMIGRANTS. 


In  sunny  Scotland,  near  the  ocean  wild, 

Lived  JasperMerton  with  his  wife  and  child. 

A  sweeter  spot  one  need  not  hope  to  find. 

Beauties  of  earth  and  sea  alike  combined 

To  charm  the  heart  and  please  the  loving  eye, 

While  Nature's  lavish  gifts  their  wants  supply. 

Their  darling  Hilda  was  their  pet  and  pride, 

Dearer  to  them  than  all  the  world  beside. 

Fair  as  a  flower,  her  sweet  and  tender  face 

Told  of  a  gentle  spirit's  winning  grace 

And  childlike  trust.     She  never  could  disguise 

The  grief  or  gladness  speaking  in  her  eyes. 

She  loved  the  beauties  of  her  sunny  land, 

But  most  of  all  the  ocean,  wild  and  grand. 

In  awe  and  wonder,  oft  alone  she  stood 

And  reveled  in  its  wildest  mood, 

Answering  back  with  gleeful  song, 

Which  echoed  far  the  crags  among, 

The  joyous  music  of  the  waves 

Through  rocky  reefs  and  sounding  caves. 

A  rhythmic  melody  they  sang  to  her, 

Their  reverent,  loving  worshiper. 

She  watched  the  seabirds  sporting  there 


% 


144  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Till  the  waters  sparkled  with  jewels  rare  ; 

Each  one,  to  her  laughing  eye,  a  gem 

In  Neptune's  wonderful  diadem. 

She  seemed  so  much  the  spirit  of  the  place, 

The  bounding  billows  well  might  love  her  face. 

Rachel,  the  mother,  idolized  her  child, 

And  her  pure  heart  with  pleasant  fancies  filled. 

She  sat  with  her  beneath  the  forest  trees, 

And  bade  her  listen  to  the  tuneful  breeze  ; 

Taught  her  these  monarchs  of  the  woodland  green, 

Standing  so  proudly  in  their  velvet  sheen, 

Were  guardian  spirits  watching  o'er  their  weal, 

From  whom,  their  sorrows  they  could  not  conceal. 

If  trouble  came,  they  found  sweet  sympathy 

In  every  humble  flower  and  forest  tree  : 

Believing  this,  their  simple  hearts  drank  in 

The  purest  pleasures,  free  from  guile  or  sin. 

Thus  Hilda,  child  of  this  secluded  spot, 

By  Nature's  sweetest  voices  had  been  taught, 

Till  her  glad  heart  exulted  in  its  store 

Of  hidden  meanings  and  unwritten  lore. 

Living  a  life  of  such  simplicity, 

To  her  unknown  were  sin  or  treachery. 

Ere  long,  a  band  of  emigrants  besought 
The  family  to  leave  this  much-loved  spot ; 
And  joining  them,  at  length,  they  leave  behind 


. 


THE    SCOTTISH    EMIGRANTS.  145 


Their  fatherland,  another  home  to  find 

In  broad  America, — our  pride,  our  boast, — 

A  refuge  for  the  eager,  restless  host 

Who  seek  a  better,  happier  home  to  gain, 

Finding,  alas  !  so  much  of  homesick  pain. 

The  tedious  voyage  soon  was  safely  o'er, 

And  they  were  landed  on  this  looked-for  shore. 

Here,  everything  to  them  was  strange  and  new. 

They  knew  not  where  to  go,  or  what  to  do. 

People  who  all  their  trials  understood, 

The  homeless  throng  with  friendly  pity  viewed. 

A  smiling  emissary  from  Brigham  Young, 

The  foul,  false  prophet,  came  the  crowd  among. 

Finding  the  Mertons  friendless  and  alone, 

(To  them  his  dark  designs  were  all  unknown) 

He  pictured  Utah  as  the  brightest  spot 

In  which  a  stranger  here  had  ever  sought 

To  find  a  home.     With  seeming  friendly  care. 

He  kindly  offered  to  escort  them  there. 

They,  unsuspicious  of  his  crafty  wiles, 

Saw  not  beneath  the  glamour  of  his  smiles, 

So  glad  were  they,  so  grateful  here  to  find 

A  friend  who  seemed  so  pious,  good  and  kind. 

Like  birds  attracted  in  their  flight 

By  some  alluring  beacon  light, 

They  blindly  walked  into  his  artful  snare, 

And  journeyed  west,  with  others,  in  his  care. 


146  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Near  Salt  Lake  City  locating,  ere  long, 
They  found  themselves  amid  a  motley  throng 
Whose  customs  most  repulsive  seemed  to  them  ; 
While  their  religion  they  could  but  condemn. 
They  felt  like  exiles,  .friendless  and  bereft. 
And  mourned  for  the  dear  home  in  Scotia  left. 
But  why  review  the  dark  and  sorrowful  years 
Of  Rachel's  life,  or  Hilda's  boding  fears? 
Grieving  for  their  loved  cottage  by  the  sea, 
And  the  old  life,  so  joyous,  glad  and  free. 

Though  Jasper  mingled  with  the  wily  ''saints," 

He  long  withstood  their  subtle  arguments. 

His  innate  love  of  truth  and  right  was  strong. 

His  soul  revolted  at  the  thought  of  wrong. 

Yet,  in  an  evil  and  unguarded  hour, 

He  yielded  to  their  strange,  seductive  power. 

On  Hilda,  too,  a  "saint"  had  cast  his  eyes, 

Urging,  with  all  his  pious  sophistries, 

Her  duties  to  the  church  ;  but  yestermorn 

She  had  refused  his  suit  with  deepest  scorn. 

She  sat  in  silent  grief  and  sadness  now, 

Her  hands  pressed  tightly  on  her  throbbing  brow  ; 

The  girlish  face,  so  innocent  and  fair, 

The  saddest  picture  of  untold  despair  : 

A  fearful  sense  of  their  impending  doom 

Filling  her  heart  with  bitterness  and  gloom. 

Hushed  was  her  merry  laugh,  her  joyous  song, 


THE    SCOTTISH    EMIGRANTS. 


In  the  dark  shadow  of  this  cruel  wrong. 
Despite  their  pleading  words  and  piteous  tears, 
The  worst  had  come,  the  climax  of  their  fears, — 
Another  wife  was  brought  their  home  to  share. 
Poor  Rachel,  broken-hearted,  met  them  there. 
She  stood  a  moment  dumb  ;  then,  with  a  cry 
Wrung  from  her  breaking  heart's  deep  agony, 
While  clasping  in  her  arms  her  sobbing  child,. 
She  to  her  husband  spoke,  with  anguish  wild  : 

"O  Jasper  !  Jasper  !  can  it  really  be 

That  you  have  brought  such  cruel  grief  to  me? 

How  have  I  lived  through  all  this  dread  suspense? 

A  wife  no  longer,  in  the  holiest  sense  ! 

God  knows  I  loved  my  husband,  kind  and  true  ; 

But  now  I  loathe  and  scorn  to  live  with  you. 

This  vile  iniquity  1  will  not  brook  ! 

Never  again  mock  me  with  word  or  look  ! 

You  are  dead  and  buried  evermore  to  me, 

Now  that  your  love  is  changed  to  mockery. 

'Prayers  cannot  help,  else  would  I  ever  pray  ; 

Nor  tears,  else  would  I  weep  the  livelong  day.' 

Now  we  must  leave  this  desecrated  home, 

Wherein  we  never,  never  more  may  come — 

My  home,  once  dear  and  sweet  as  home  could  be  ! 

How  many  tokens  of  our  bliss  I  see, 

Ere  this  delusive,  mocking  madness  came, 

Clothing  such  sin  in  pure  Religion's  name  ! 


<*r 


148  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

O,  vile  Poligamy  !     Thou  pestilence! 

Who  shall  stay  thy  hand  or  drive  thee  hence? 

Leading  to  crime  by  thy  seductive  arts — 

Thou  spoiler  of  our  homes!  Shall  breaking  hearts 

Plead  vainly?    Slumbers  a  nation's  power 

While  gathering  tempests  darkly  lower 

Over  her  head?    Oh,  must  this  dreadful  blot 

Rest  on  her  name?  and  will  she  heed  it  not? 

Once  was  her  life-blood  spilled,  to  free  from  chains 

The  suffering  millions  in  her  fair  domains: 

How  will  her  hand  wipe  out  this  fouler  stain. 

And  make  her  borders  pure  and  clean  again? 

'•My  child  !  my  child  !  you  must  not,  shall  not  know 

This  keenest  acme  of  a  woman's  woe  ! 

One  door  is  open — God  forgive  the  thought ! 

For  grief  has  my  poor  soul  to  frenzy  wrought. 

I  cannot,  will  not  live  !  One  boon  I  crave  : 

O,  let  us  find  sweet  solace  in  the  grave  !" 

As  from  a  home  where  death  each  tie  doth  sever, 

Mother  and  child  went  out  therefrom  forever. 

From  bitterest  sorrows  which  have  no  redress, 

Together  now  they  seek  forgetfulness. 

With  arms  entwined,  in  the  soft  light  they  walk, 

And  long  and  lovingly  together  talk  ; 

Then,  kneeling,  pray  with  tearful  earnestness  : 

"O  Father  !  pity  us  in  our  distress  ! 

With  broken  hearts,  from  sorrows  dark  we  flee. 


THE    SCOTTISH    EM1GRNNTS.  149 


Now,  O  our  Father,  let  us  come  to  Thee  ! 
Driven  from  home,  we  can  no  longer  live, — 
If  it  be  sinful,  O  our  God,  forgive !" 

This  prayer  alone  their  trembling  lips  could  speak 
Death's  sweet  release  the  only  boon  they  seek. 
Saw  they  the  gates  of  the  eternal  City? 
Saw  they,  with  looks  and  words  of  tenderest  pity, 
The  throng  of  an'gels  o'er  them  lowly  bending, 
Their  helping  hands  so  eagerly  extending? 
One  moment  on  the  river's  brink  they  stand  ; 
One  look  toward  heaven  ;  then,  hand  in  hand 
They  spring  far  out  into  the  crystal  tide. 
Whose  limpid  waters  all  their  sorrows  hide, 
Over  them  closing  in  a  last  embrace, 
Giving  to  them  a  welcome  resting-place, — 
The  loving  mother,  sorrow-stricken  wife, 
The  fair  young  maiden  in  her  beauty  rife, 
Who  choose,  alas  !  together  there  to  die, 
Thus  from  their  joyless,  hopeless  life  to  fly. 


EARLY  POEMS. 


. 


& 


i53 


TO   A  MOONBEAM. 


Bless  thee,  Moonbeam  !  peering  quaintly 
In  my  window,  smiling  faintly, 
With  a  look  half  gay,  half  saintly  ! 

Dost  thou  know  why  I  am  sitting 
In  the  twilight  shadows  flitting, 
Till  the  starry  lamps  are  lighting? 

Thinkest  thou  my  heart  is  weary? 
That  life's  path  is  growing  dreary, 
Ever  deemed  so  sweet  and  flowery? 

No  :   ah,  never  !  from  above  me 
Would  the  holy  stars  reprove  me, 
Sweetly  smiling  down,  "I  love  thee." 

Is  it  but  a  childish  dreaming? 

Is  it  but  an  empty  seeming? 

Are  the  stars  but  coldly  gleaming? 

Everywhere  on  earth  I  move, 
Of  the  hosts  beneath,  above, 
I  would  ask  of  all  for  love  ; 


154  EARLY    POEMS. 


Of  the  singing  birds  and  flowers, 
Of  the  gently-falling  showers, 
Of  the  stilly,  moonlit  hours, 

Of  each  dear  one  I  may  meet, 
Of  each  kindly  face  I  greet ; 
Give  me  this  panacea  sweet ! 

I've  formed  for  all  a  standard  high  ; 
They  do  not  reach  it,  nor   may  I : 
The  towering  cliffs  my  strength  defy. 

But  there  is  One  who  sees  and  knows 
Whence  every  aspiration  flows, 
And  He  each  perfect  gift  bestows. 


XT 

TWILIGHT.  155 


TWILIGHT. 


Sweet  Twilight !     'Tis  the  holiest  hour 

Of  all  the  glorious  day  ; 

When  the  burning  sunlight  in  the  west 

Fades  silently  away, 

And  the  gorgeous  clouds  which  hung  around 

The  dying  Day-king's  head, 

Into  the  mystic,  shadowy  gray 

Of  evening  softly  fade  ; 

While  darkness,  stealing  o'er  the  earth, 

Brings  strange,  fantastic  beauties  forth. 

The  sun  upon  the  western  hills 

Lingers  a  little  while, 

Casting  around  his  kingdom  vast 

A  last  departing  smile  : 

More  brilliant  than  the  day's  full  light, 

The  splendor  of  that  beam, 

Making  the  train  which  round  him  wait 

With  brighter  glories  gleam  ; 

Flashing  the  dazzling  army  o'er  ; 

Then,  vanishing,  is  seen  no  more. 

Now  Twilight  over  hill  and  glen 
As  soon  is  seen  to  glide, 


156  EARLY    POEMS. 


And  kneel  beside  the  gilded  couch 

Where  the  proud  monarch  died  ; 

Her  flowing  robes  agleam  with  tints 

Of  silver  and  of  gold, 

As,  weeping  pearly  tears  of  dew, 

She  gathers  up  each  fold, 

Then  drops  a  curtain  o'er  the  west 

Where  sank  her  mighty  sire  to  rest. 

A  feeling  of  sublimest  awe 

Her  presence  doth  inspire, 

So  soon  she  spreads  a  dreamy  shade 

O'er  sunset's  glowing  fire  ; 

And  with  a  rapturous  wonder 

Blends  a  delirium  sweet, 

When  o'er  the  earth  she  lightly  hies, 

Her  sister,  Eve,  to  meet ; 

And  hand  in  hand  they  pass  from  sight, 

Leaving  the  star-crowned  empress,  Night. 

0  God,  how  beautiful  this  world  ! 
How  great  Thou  art,  how  wise  ! 
How  passing  fair  and  wonderful 
Thy  works  around  us  rise  ! 
Thou  art  supremely  good, 

And  infinite  in  power. 

O,  who  could  doubt  a  hand  divine, 

To  see  and  feel  this  hour? 

1  must  adore,  else  I  were  blind  : 

Keep  Thou  such  darkness  from  my  mind. 


EVENING    PRAYER.  157 


EVENING   PRAYER. 


Father  !  I  bow  with  thankful  heart  this  day 

To  Thee.     O  wilt  Thou  hear  my  prayer? 

Far  from  the  tumult  of  the  world  away, 

I  feel,  O  God,  Thy  presence  everywhere  ! 

The  very  stillness  breathes  Thy  name, 

Awakening  a  purer  flame 

Of  sacred  love  within  my  inmost  heart; 

Bidding  distrust  and  doubting  fears  depart ; 

Whispering,  "Peace  be  still." 

Give  me,  my  Father,  more  of  trusting  love 

In  Thee,  Thou  ruler  of  all  things  beneath,  above  ! 

Help  me  to  do  Thy  will ! 

Father  !  I  ask  not  fleeting  wealth  or  power, 
Nor  heartless  worldly  fame  I  seek  ; 
But  in  the  stillness  of  this  vesper  hour, 
Clinging  to  Thee,  I  fain  would  speak 
Sweet  words  of  gratitude  and  praise 
For  Thy  all-holy,  wondrous  ways. 
Though  wrapt  in  mystery  oft  they  seem, 
Thy  smile  through  every  cloud  doth  gleam, 
Lighting  the  darkest  night. 
Though  all  forsake,  Thou  art  a  refuge  sweet, 


158  EARLY    POEMS. 


A  light  to  guide  our  weary,  erring  feet 
To  joys  earth  cannot  blight. 

I  humbly  ask  that  virtue's  shielding  wing 

Be  ever  o'er  my  pathway  spread  ; 

That  I  to  truth  and  purity  may  cling, 

And  be  by  wisdom's  precepts  led. 

May  envious  hatred  never  stain 

My  heart ;  but  generous  love  again 

Waken  a  sympathetic  tear  for  others'  grief, 

Prompting  self-sacrifice  to  give  relief 

To  those  with  want  oppressed  ; 

Thus  reaping  joy,  contentment,  love  and  peace, 

The  richest  harvest  of  terrestrial  bliss, 

And  Heaven's  eternal  rest. 


VIA    LACTEA.  159 


VIA   LACTEA. 

When  night  her  canopy  unfolds, 
This  wonder  every  eye  beholds. — 
A  pathway  through  the  heavens  broad  ; 
Even  the  footprints  of  our  God  ! 

When  first  the  stars  together  sang, 
And  the  whole  host  exultant  rang, 
His  holy  feet  this  pathway  traced, 
Which  age  on  age  hath  ne'er  effaced. 

His  power  the  mighty  plan  defined, — 
Millions  of  shining  orbs  combined 
Their  dazzling  light ;  planet  and  sun 
Through  infinite  space  together  run. 

The  eye  of  man,  unaided,  sought  in  vain 
Their  mingled  light  to  separate,  explain. 
His  bold  research  the  telescope  assists, 
And  now  resolves  those  brilliant,  shining  mists. 

Whene'er  we  scan  the  starry  sky,  we  see 
New  forms  of  grandeur  and  immensity. 
At  every  point,  such  glorious  truths  unroll, 
Amazement,  wonder  overwhelms  the  soul ! 

He  whom  alone  the  heavenly  hosts  obey, 
Ordained  the  sun  to  be  our  light  by  day. 
He  gives  the  moon  and  stars  their  lesser  light 
To  illuminate  and  beautify  the  night. 


l6o  EARLY    POEMS. 


WHY   AM   I   SAD? 


Why  am  I  sad,  when  all  the  world 

Around  me  is  so  fair, 

While  yet  so  young  I  scarce  have  known 

A  shade  of  grief  or  care  ? 

Why  come  unbidden  to  my  heart 

These  thoughts  so  strangely  sad, 

When  Nature's  sweet  and  sunny  smile 

Seems  bidding  me  be  glad? 

I  look  around  upon  the  earth, 

Upon  the  far-spread  sky, 

And  O  !  such  brilliant  beauty, 

Such  glory  meets  my  eye  ; 

My  heart  is  filled  with  love  divine  ! 

Such  sweet  ecstatic  love, 

I  seem  to  mount  on  spirit  wings 

And  through  Elysium  move. 

A  flower,  a  bird's  sweet  carol  free, 
A  gaily-singing  rill, 
With  sweet  and  tender  memories 
Doth  make  my  spirit  thrill ; 
And  sweeter  pleasures  cluster 


I 


V 


WHY    AM    I    SAD.  l6l 

Within  home's  precincts  dear, 
WTith  father,  mother  and  the  band 
Of  loved  ones  gathered  here. 

Then  why  so  oft  will  sadness  come, 

A  visitor  unloved  ? 

Would  that  her  chilling  presence 

Forever  were  removed  ! 

She  folds  her  wings  above  my  head 

Where'er  I  chance  to  be, 

Seeking  to  darken  all  the  light 

Of  love  and  joy  for  me. 


;i^— 


\ 

162  EARLY    POEMS. 


FLORENCE   NIGHTINGALE. 


Hark  !  the  dreadful  din  of  battle 

Cometh  from  a  land  afar ! 
Hear  the  thunder,  crash  and  rattle 

Of  the  dauntless  demon,— War! 

On  with  dreadful  fury  rushing, — 
Deafening  drum  and  bugle-note, 

Gleaming  sword  and  saber  flashing, — 
Wreathed  in  smoke  their  banners  float. 

There  the  brave,  the  true  are  falling, 
Dead  and  dying  side  by  side  ; 

While  with  cannon-roar  appalling, 
Rushes  on  the  fearful  tide. 

One  is  there,  a  ministering  angel, 

Lingering  near  each  dreadful  scene, — 

Gentle  Mercy's  sweet  "Evangel," 
Brave  of  heart,  with  face  serene  ; 

O'er  each  couch  of  anguish  bending, 
Binding  up  each  bleeding  wound  ; 

Like  a  seraph  pure  descending, 
Spreading  peace  and  joy  around. 


FLORENCE    NIGHTINGALE.  163 

Bravest  of  old  England's  daughters, 

Thou  hast  won  a  lasting  name  ! 
O'er  Atlantic's  wide-spread  waters 

Comes  the  glory  of  thy  fame. 

Well  Britain's  queen  may  deck  thee 

With  her  rarest,  richest  gem  ; 
Yet  a  brighter  crown  awaits  thee, — 

'Tis  a  heavenly  diadem  ! 


164  EARLY    POEMS. 


SADNESS. 

O'er  my  weary  head  a  phantom 

Folds  her  gloomy  wings  to-night ; 
Darkly  o'er  my  tear-damp  pillow 

Falls  her  boding,  spectral  light. 
Through  the  long,  lone  hours  I've  waited, 

Waited  vainly  for  her  flight  ; 
Still  her  vigil  near  she  keepeth, 
And  her  wild  eye  never  sleepeth, 

Still  so  stiangely  cold  and  bright ; 

Till  my  sad  o'er-burdened  spirit 

Uttereth  an  anguished  cry, 
"Is  there  none  to  aid,  to  save  me 

From  this  crushing  agony? 
Must  this  gloomy,  ghostly  phantom, 

Ever  o'er  me  brooding  nigh, 
Fill  my  weary  heart  with  blackness, — 
Starless  and  undawning  darkness, — 

Shadows  that  may  never  fly?" 

Yet  no  ear  my  wild  cry  heedeth, 

All  is  blackness  as  before  ; 
Till  my  tortured  spirit  shrieketh, 

"Stay  !  for  I  can  bear  no  more  ! 
Do  not  let  thy  dreadful  presence 

Cast  a  deeper  shadow  o'er  !" 
Still  the  silence  grows  more  weary, 
Still  the  solemn  night-time  dreary 

Shrouds  my  spirit  evermore. 


GLADNESS.  165 


GLADNESS. 

Welcome  !  mystic,  merry  spirit ! 

Twice,  thrice  welcome  here  to-night ! 
For  thy  sweet  smile  o'er  my  pillow 

Casts  a  joyous,  softened  light. 
Prithee,  Gladness,  fold  thy  pinions  ! 

Never  would  I  wish  thy  flight, 
With  the  stars  thy  vigil  keeping, 
Whose  bright  eyes  are  never  sleeping, — 

Thine  are  not  less  bright. 

When  thou  art  near,  my  joyous  fancy 

Fetterless  as  air  doth  fly, 
From  the  beauteous  earth  beneath 

To  the  stars  up-regioned  high. 
All  the  world  is  robed  in  glory 

When  thy  magic  wand  is  nigh  ; 
Vanishes  all  midnight  blackness, 
Joy-light  springeth  out  of  darkness, 

Lighteth  up  the  saddest  eye. 

Out  in  songs  of  merriest  laughter 

Gushes  now  the  jubilant  earth  ; 
While  our  blithesome  hearts  are  brimming 

Over  with  ecstatic  mirth  ; 
And  the  varied  forms  of  nature, 

In  fresh  beauty  shining  forth, 
Cheer  and  light  each  soul  a-weary, 
Till  the  darkest  path  seems  flowery, 

Spoiled  no  more  by  blight  or  dearth. 


~/f 

l66  EARLY    POEMS. 


TO   S.    W.    CROSBY. 


Dear  Sybel,  dost  remember 
Our  happy,  school-girl  days, 
When  we  were  free  and  joyous 
As  the  zephyr  bland  which  strays 
In  each  leaflet-nestled  covert, 
In  those  cosy  wildvvood  bowers 
Where  we  have  together  spent 
Our  wildest,  merriest  hours, 
Chasing  gay-winged  butterflies, 
In  each  grass-grown  nook  ; 
Weaving  modest  violets 
Down  by  the  babbling  brook? 
Then  the  trees,  the  birds  and  flowers 
Made  Earth  seem  an  Eden  fair. 
Thinkest  thou,  dear  friend,  again 
We  shall  be  so  free  from  care? 


10* 


THE  PENITENT'S  APPEAL.  167 


THE   PENITENT'S   APPEAL. 


My  Father  !   O  my  God  !  wilt  hear 

My  penitential  prayer? 
Though  I  have  wandered  far  from  Thee, 

And  merit  not  Thy  care, 
I  feel  Thou  wilt  not  turn  away 

When  erring  children  kneel  ; 
But  Thou  wilt  heed — in  mercy  heed — 

When  sorrowing  hearts  appeal. 

With  rainbow  visions  I  had  clothed 

This  changeful,  fleeting  life, 
Unconscious,  in  home's  guarded  walls, 

Of  all  its  woe  and  strife  ; 
Shielded  by  watchful  parents  dear 

From  the  world's  chilling  phase, 
Till  life  seemed  but  a  dream  of  love 

To  my  unwearied  gaze. 

I  shrink  as  my  maturer  sight 

The  blotted  page  unrolls  ; 
For,  far  and  near,  'mid  wails  of  woe 

The  death-bell  sadly  tolls  ; 
And  dark  depravity  and  sin 

Have  spread  their  direful  trace, 
Till,  as  I  look,  a  blackened  veil 

Rests  o'er  the  earth's  fair  face. 


l68  EARLY    POEMS. 


I  look  within  ;  my  own  heart  meets 

Me  with  accusing  pain  ; 
Far,  far  from  Thee,  a  giddy  child 

Living  almost  in  vain  ! 
Yet  seeking  for  a  nobler  life, 

Yearning  to  feel  Thy  love 
Like  sunlight  falling  on  my  soul, 

Its  darkness  to  remove  ! 

I  can  but  turn  to  Thee  ;  for  here 

Alone  is  refuge  sweet. 
Thou  wilt  forgive  my  sins,  and  give 

Me  strength  and  wisdom  meet 
To  do  Thy  will.     Keep  Thou  my  thoughts 

From  evil  all  my  days, 
Nor  let  my  vain  and  careless  lips 

Forget  to  sing  Thy  praise  ! 

O,  Thou  art  good  and  merciful ! 

When  shall  we  cease  to  sin? 
Ah,  never  till  "beyond  the  gates" 

We  all  are  gathered  in  ! 
We  are  so  frail,  so  weak,  'tis  hard 

To  keep  the  narrow  way  ; 
But  in  that  brighter,  fairer  land 

We  shall  not  go  astray. 


COME    UNTO    ME. 


•'COME   UNTO  ME.' 


"Come  to  me,"  the  Master  sayeth  ; 
Who  this  earnest  call  obeyeth  ? 
Who.  alas!  the  time  delayeth  ? 

The  church  is  needy  of  each  friend 
Of  God,  as  watchmen  to  defend 
The  right,  the  wrong  transcend. 

'Tis  sweet,  dear  Jesus,  to  abide 
With  Thee  ;  to  know  we  have  a  guide 

O 

Who  ne'er  forsakes,  whate'er  betide, 

So  near  that  we  may  touch  the  hem 
Of  shining  garments,  cling  to  them, 
And  find  the  new  Jerusalem, 

Whose  sapphire  walls  a  softer  glow 
Over  the  darkest  paths  will  throw  ; 
And  faithful,  trusting  souls  may  go 

And  stand  within  the  holy  place  ; 
Or,  bending,  seek  the  Father's  face 
And  the  outpouring  of  His  grace. 

12 


170  EARLY    POEMS. 


The  Saviour  came  to  claim  His  own  : 
O,  never  was  such  kindness  shown, 
Never  was  such  compassion  known  ! 

And  will  His  children  turn  away? 
O,  let  us  come  to  Him  to-day, 
And  at  His  feet  an  offering  lay. 

We  know  He  calls  us  ;  yet  we  fear, 
So  poor  and  weak  our  hearts  appear, 
Some  hidden  foe  may  linger  near 

To  lead  our  feet  astray.     Dear  Lord, 
We  have  the  promise  in  Thy  word 
Our  cry  for  strength  is  ever  heard. 


% 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS    OF    DEATH. 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS   OF   DEATH. 


A  neighbor's  child  was  breathing 

Its  precious  life  away  ; 
And,  to  their  rustic  cottage, 

I  went  the  night  to  stay. 

Watching  beside  the  mother 

In  the  dimly-lighted  room, 
A  child  of  dreams  and  fancies, 

I  felt  and  feared  the  gloom. 

Through  the  low,  uncurtained  windows, 
Peered  the  blackness  of  the  night ; 

Nor  moon,  nor  star,  through  rifted  cloud, 
Sent  in  its  cheering  light. 

The  firelight  filled  with  spectres 

Each  shadowy  recess. 
What  death  was  like,  I  did  not  know — 

I  could  not  even  guess. 

Oh,  where  was  God?     I  felt  adrift 

Upon  a  shoreless  sea. 
I  could  not,  dared  not  question 

This  dreadful  invsterv. 


172  EARLY    POEMS. 


The  stillness  was  unbroken. 

Save  by  a  word  or  sigh, — 
Or  were  the  angels  round  us. 

Singing  baby's  lullaby? 

Was  it  a  dream?  My  listening  ear 
The  softest  whispers  heard  ; 

While,  over  all  the  darkness,  shone 
The  glory  of  the  Lord — 

A  heavenly  light,  dispelling 
All  gloomy  fear  and  dread, 

Although  I  heard  them  whisper 
So  low,  "Baby  is  dead." 

I  left  the  lowly  cottage 

In  the  morning's  early  light, — 
The  weary  little  wanderer 

Had  fluttered  out  of  sight, — 

And  death,  that  dreaded  presence, 

So  dimly  understood, 
Was  forgotten  in  the  vision 

Of  ever  present  good. 


FAITH.  173 


FAITH. 

How  beautiful  this  earth,  replete 

With  sweetest  melody  ! 
My  heart  with  blissful  thought  o'erflows, 

Purest  and  holiest  joy. 
The  world  is  bright ;  noon-day  and  night 

Alike  bring  joy  to  me. 
I  trust  in  Him  who  fills  with  light 

Time  and  eternity. 

Thou  dost  in  love  afflict,  O  God  ! 

Thine  is  impartial  love. 
Never  in  anger  falls  the  rod  ; 

Thou  wisely  dost  reprove, 
Pointing  us  upward  to  Thy  springs 

Of  truth  and  love  divine, 
Lifting  our  thoughts  to  nobler  things, 

Making  us  truly  Thine. 


174  EARLY    POEMS. 


CHRISTMAS   GREETING. 

[Recitation  for  a  Child.] 


With  sparkling  eyes  and  faces  bright, 
And  hearts  o'erflowing  with  delight, 
We  meet  together  here  to-night. 

And  is  it  not  beautifuPto  see 

These  splendid  gifts  on  our  Christmas  tree? 

Something,  perhaps,  for  you  and  me. 

Father  in  heaven,  we  look  to  Thee  ! 
Thy  goodness  in  all  this  we  see  ! 
We  thank  Thee,  Father,  reverently. 

We  thank  Thee  for  our  friends  so  dear, 
Whose  loving  tokens  greet  us  here, 
Each  eager,  waiting  heart  to  cheer. 

Our  Pastor,  too,  how  glad  are  we 
A  faithful  teacher  such  as  he, 
The  Master  sent  our  guide  to  be  ! 

A  servant  of  the  living  God, 
With  Gospel-sandals  firmly  shod, 
He  leads  the  way  where  Jesus  trod. 


CHRISTMAS    GREETING.  175 

And,  surely,  friends,  we  will  not  try 
To  find  one  mote  in  his  thoughtful  eye, 
When  a  beam,  perchance,  in  our's  may  lie. 

May  sympathy,  trust  and  love  alone, 

To  him  and  his  gentle  wife  be  shown, 

Who  have  left  warm  hearts  to  cheer  our  own. 

And,  dearest  Saviour,  most  of  all 
We  would  Thy  lowly  life  recall, 
Who  loves  us  little  children  all, 

And  bids  us  come  to  Thee.     O  yes, 
Thou  wilt  our  waiting  spirits  bless 
With  purity  and  holiness  ! 

"Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men," 

We  hear  the  angels  sing  again  : 

To  Thee.  O  God,  we  chant  the  strain  ! 

We  thank  Thee  that  Thy  skillful  hand, 
Unerring  in  its  wisdom,  planned  . 
A  destiny  for  all,  so  grand  ; 

That  all,  at  last,  with  Christ  shall  meet 
To  worship  at  Jehovah's  feet, 
When  victory  shall  be  complete 

O'er  sin  and  death,  sorrow  and  pain. 
And  nevermore  a  blot  or  stain 
On  the  fair  Book  of  Life  remain. 


I  76  EARLY    POEMS. 


BESSIE. 

Sweet  girlhood,  true  and  pure  and  fair. 

Is  a  type  of  angelic  beauty  rare  : 

And  innocence,  purity  and  truth 

Are  the  choicest  gems  in  the  crown  of  youth. 

To  be  prized  and  guarded  well,  forsooth. 

Ah,  Bessie  !  poor  Bessie  !  how  little  you  knew 
In  this  wicked  world  the  false  from  the  true  ! 
So  merry,  so  thoughtless,  so  free  from  guile, 
When  the  tempter  came  with  his  winning  smile, 
How  could  you  know  he  was  heartless  and  vile  ? 

With  girlish  vanity,  careless  and  wild, 
You  gave  him  your  heart,  poor  deluded  child  ! 
He  who  to  one  had  been  false  and  untrue, 
Soon  or  late  would  turn  traitor  to  you, 
And  leave  you  as  quickly  another  to  woo. 

Soon  faded  and  fallen  your  rose-tinted  palace  ; 
Drained  to  the  dregs  griefs  bitterest  chalice. 
Death  kindly  released  you  from  sorrow  and  strife, 
When  your  poor  heart  was  broken — blighted  your  life. 
How  dreadful  the  thought, —  a  deserted  wife  ! 

Poor  Bessie !  we  pitied  you,  suffering  so, 
Maddened  and  crushed  by  this  cruel  blow. 
He  was  your  idol :  you  worshiped  a  stone. 
"Other  women  have  thus  laid  down 
Their  hearts  for  a  Judas  to  trample  on." 

We  gave  your  deceiver  our  bitterest  scorn. 
Better  for  him  had  he  never  been  born  ! 
With  his  burden  of  sin,  let  him  go  his  way  : 
On  his  blackened  heart,  God  has  written  to-day, 
"Vengeance  is  mine!  I  will  repay." 


REUNITED. 


REUNITED. 


The  one  was  taken,  the  other  left, 
They  who  were  long  since  wed  ; 

And  it  seemed  so  hard  to  leave  her 
Alone  in  her  cold,  cold  bed  ; 

With  no  loving  heart  beside  her 
There  with  the  silent  dead. 

He  tarried  awhile  till  the  Master 
Called  from  the  other  shore, 

Bidding  the  boatman  carry 

The  white-haired- pilgrim  o'er, 

Where  ever  patiently  waited 
The  one  who  had  gone  before. 

And  O  !  how  glad  was  the  meeting 
Of  these  loved  ones  over  there, 

When  the  fetters  of  earth-life  melted 
Away  in  the  glory  rare, 

Which,  softly  falling  around  them, 
Transfigured  the  aged  pair  ! 


178  EARLY    POEMS. 


TO   MY   SISTER. 


Thou  askest  a  memorial  : 

What  shall  affection  bring? 

A  prayer  from  the  heart's  inmost  depths 
Were  holiest  offering. 

Though  humble  is  the  gift  I  lay 

Upon  this  sacred  shrine, 
Perchance,  it  may  be  dear  to  thee 

Because  the  gift  be  mine. 

1  cannot,  from  my  inner  world 
Of  tossing,  billowy  thought, 

Bring  thee  a  sparkling  pearl,  a  gem 
Elaborately  wrought ; 

Yet,  on  the  wings  of  love,  my  thought 
Soars  from  the  chaos  there, 

And  for  each  dear  one  fondly  breathes 
A  soul-impassioned  prayer. 

For  thee  I  ask  the  richest  gift 

To  mortal  ever  given, — 
The  beacon  light  of  faith  and  hope 

To  guide  thy  feet  to  heaven. 


TO    MY    SISTER.  179 


May  truest  friendship  ever  twine 

A  garland  for  thy  brow  ; 
And  may  the  virtuous  and  good 

On  thee  their  love  bestow. 

And  as  the  morning  of  thy  life 

Thus  far  has  smoothly  flown, 

So  may  God  bless  thee  evermore, 

And  those  thou  callst  thine  own. 

Yet,  sister,  if  the  clouds  do  lower 

Darkly  around  thy  head, 
Hear  thou  above  the  tempest's  roar, 

kk  'Tis  I,  be  not  afraid  !" 

And  when  thine  eyes  at  last  shall  trace 

The  vista  dim  of  years, 
O,  mayst  thou  read  a  blotless  page, — 

A  page  undimmed  by  tears  ! 

May  this  around  thy  couch  of  pain 

A  heavenly  halo  fling  ; 
And  may  the  victory  of  faith 

Rob  death  of  all  its  sting  ! 


'Tis  ever  true,  "the  might  have  been" 
Seems  something  sweeter  far 

Than  all  our  gifts  and  blessings, 
However  great  they  are  ; 

For  the  brightness  of  their  beauty 
Some  blot  will  surely  mar. 


EARLY    POEMS. 


HYMN. 

Great  God  !  our  Father  and  our  Friend  ! 
To  Thee  our  songs  of  praise  ascend. 
O,  bless  Thy  people  everywhere  ! 
Fill  every  heart  with  praise  and  prayer. 

We  thank  Thee  for  the  Christian  band 
Who  cherish  hopes  so  great  and  grand  ; 
And  help  us  now,  O  gracious  God, 
To  spread  Thy  mighty  truths  abroad. 

We  come  with  heartfelt  love  and  zeal ; 
And  humbly,  trustingly  we  feel 
Thy  presence  with  us  through  all  time, — 
Thy  grace  inspiring,  faith  sublime. 

We  know  that  Thou  to  man  hast  given 
Truths  which,  like  thunderbolts,  have  riven 
The  clouds  of  error,  doubt  and  fear, 
And  left  Thy  "bow  of  promise"  there. 

We  know  Thou  doest  all  things  right. 
Lead  Thou  Thy  children  in  the  light ! 
The  Christian's  armor  let  them  wear. 
Nor  error's  grievous  burdens  bear. 


HYMN.  l8l 


O,  cleanse  our  hearts  from  doubt  and  sin  ! 

Let  holy  aspirations  in  ; 

And  earnest  workers  we  will  be, 

To  reconcile  the  world  to  Thee  ! 


May  we  not  call  the  present  time, 
In  God's  good  providence,  sublime? 
There's  room  enough  for  souls  to  climb 

High  up  on  shining  ground. 
Each  struggling  one  who  humbly  pleads, 
Finds  help  and  strength  for  all  his  needs, 
For  work  and  worship,  noblest  deeds, — 

A  hero  may  be  crowned. 


CONTENTS. 


Biographical  Sketch,  7 

Preface.  -         3 

POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  HOME. 

A  Morning  Ride,  41 

Christmas  Song  for  Our  Old  Home,  -      45 

Firelight  Fancies,              -  38 

God's  Ways  are  Best,  -     29 

Marion  Lee,                                     -  79 

Memories,  -      19 

Musings,  77 

My  Old  Birch  Tree.  -      36 

Our  Loved  Ones,  ?.  i 

Out  in  the  Storm,  -      68 

Paul  Deane,                                     -  16 

Sabbath  Morning  in  Winter.  -      43 

Sebasticook.  75 

Snow,             -  -       73 

Springtime  Glories,  34 

Sunset  Illumination,  Nov.  27,    1883,  -        33 

Thanksgiving  Evening  Thoughts,       -  26 

The  Chaplet  of  Faith.  49 

The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth.  71 

The  Forest  in  Winter,  -        23 

The  Old  Farm  Home  of  My  Childhood,  58 

The  Wildwood  Fountain,  61 

Time  and  Change,  -     13 

To  My  Father  on  His  Eightieth  Birthday.  52 


CONTENTS.  183 


To  the  Kenduskeag,  64 

Transformation,  -      47 

Wild  Roses,  n 

RELIGIOUS    POEMS. 

Bow  Down  Thine  Ear,  87 

Death,  96 

Knowledge  of  God,       -  94 

Lead  Me  to  the  Rock  that  is  Higher  than  I,  89 

The  Mercy  of  God,  -     97 

The  Presence  of  God,  92 

Thy  Will  be  done,  -        91 

MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

In  a  Prison  Cell.  115 

Life's  Burdens.  -       124 

Life's  Journey,  109 

Lines,  -        103 

Lost  and  Found.  128 

Mother  and  Child,  104 

My  Web  of  Life,  lot 

Our  Mischief-Maker,  -        142 

Raffle's  Goodnight.  139 

Retrospection.  127 

Resignation.  141 

Submission  and  Trust.  -         121 

The  Better  Way,  112 

The  Great  Reform,  -       130 

The  Night- Wind's  Story,  117 

The  Scottish    Emigrants.  -       143 

The  Sibyl's  Prophecy,              -  135 


184  CONTENTS. 


To  Annie  on  Her  Sixteenth  Birthday,       -  -       120 

To  Bertha  on  Her  Tenth  Birthday,  134 
To  Ethel,                                       -             -                 -       133 

To  Fred,                                                              .  I26 
To  Mrs.  C.  A.  Quinby,                                               .       IQJ 

To  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Stone,  m 

To  Vernon,  !^o 

EARLY   POEMS. 

Bessie,  176 

Christmas  Greeting,  174 

Come  unto  Me,  169 

Evening  Prayer,  157 

Faith,  173 

First  Impressions  of  Death,  171 

Florence  Nightingale,  162 

Gladness,  165 

Hymn,  180 

Reunited,  177 

Sadness,  164 

The  Penitent's  Appeal,  167 

To  a  Moonbeam.  153 

To  My  Sister,  178 

To  S.  W.  Crosby,  166 

Twilight,  155 

Via  Lactea,  159 
Why  am  I  Sad,                                               -              -           160 


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